So, Bryan got this gizmo for the yard that looks like a stake with a handle and a push thingy at the bottom (you're picturing this perfectly in your mind, aren't you?), and it's used to snare dandelions right by the root and yank them out of the yard. As many of you already know, I am not one to participate in anything that remotely resembles yard work--give me a load of laundry or even a kitchen floor to mop any day, but ask me to weed? I think not.
But last Sunday I was wandering around the yard waiting for Bryan to finish some mundane garden task, and I happened upon the Weed Hound. I picked it up and asked him to show me how to use it--if anything, I could pass the next 10 minutes productively while I waited for him to finish up and take me to lunch.
Or, I would become a Weed Hound addict, spending the majority of the day stabbing, pulling, and dropping hundreds of dandelions in the wheelbarrow by my side.
Who would have thought?
This morning, I happily bounced out to the yard at 9 a.m. to find my buddy, and began poking and pulling yet again. Tragically, half-a-wheelbarrow-load in to the game, IT BROKE. Not sure if I was too aggressive, or what would cause it to poop out on me, but I have to say that I was disappointed. Bryan was more like pissed off, because apparently the Weed Hound has a lifetime guarantee.
I suggested he find out where the Weed Hound was purchased, go replace it quickly, and get back to the house before I lost interest in the first yard task I've tackled in 15 years.
Seriously, Mom? If you would have provided us all with a Weed Hound as adolescents, I can assure you that the weeding would have been accomplished with a LOT less grumbling. And who wouldn't want to use a sharp stabby thing in the yard right next to her annoying sister that just stole her favorite pair of Champion socks despite the fact that her name was written on the bottom of each sock? I'm still confident there would have been no Weed Hound abuse.
Really.
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