A Woman's Fancy Lightly Turns to Thoughts of...

Moss and dog hair, really. I'm obsessed with both. And this is why(d0 tell!). As the trees began sending forth tender shoots and the flowers began to forgive me for my less than attentive efforts in their care last summer, I noticed that the front lawn was mightily green. It was also mightily spongy. Having walked on grass lo these many years., I am quite aware that sponginess is not a quality often seen in grass. For pooh! Nearly all of my front lawn was moss. I quickly hosed it down with my organic, safe-for-all-living-creatures-unless-your-pour-it-directly-into-an-orifice moss killer, lest my father, "King Chemical," feel the need to help. Not that I don't want his help, (well, really, I don't, he does stuff WRONG! Okay, different, but still WRONG!), but I'm very particular with what goes on my lawn. (Not to mention how the grass is cut and the fact that I move my plants out of the way as I edge as opposed to his carpet bombing method of "it shouldn't be there, anyway!") The difference between organic "Moss Aside" and kill-them-all "Moss Out!" is inherent in the names. "Moss Out" kills all moss to a paltry black grease stain on the lawn, enabling the homeowner to blithely overseed and go on his/her busy way. "Moss Aside" disturbs the moss's growing cycle just enough to give you a minor coronary event while raking it out of your lawn, as opposed to flirting with Pulseless Electrical Activity without it. One should not need to take nitro just to fit in with the Joneses and their lawn. So began the raking and the sweating and the cursing all Gig Harborites who were stay at home moms with husbands pulling down 6 figures, and nannies and yard people with lawns that resemble the 5th green at Augusta National. There are now sparsley covered spots in my lawn interspersed with flat out bald areas. Sprinkled over that is errant moss that escaped my efforts to gather it up. Screw it. I'm going to mulch it right back into the turf when I mow. I still haven't done anything about the crabgrass; I'm sure the Homeowner's Association is getting hives. I already underpaid my dues by $15, and the treasurer has been desperately trying to get ahold of me. Meanwhile, I have been desperately dodging his calls. I'll pay it fer pete's sake! What are they gonna do? Put a lien on my house for a lousy $15? Rat bastards.

The other bane of my existence is the male pattern baldness effect of shedding that is going on with my dog. My grandma didn't lose hair at this rate when she went through chemo. He is like that Peanuts character Pig Pen who walked around with a cloud of dust everywhere he went. Except in this case, it's dog hair. And this crap is everywhere! I find it in the most unusual places. Like the top of the dishwasher. Say what? It almost looks as though I've got a Rodentia Reservation on my kitchen floor after he gets up. Is that a rather large sized guinea pig? Oh, no, it's just a ball of hair that leapt to it's death from the dog's back.

My house looks like Hurricane Katrina got PMS and stayed awhile. I need to get another care package together, but I got so carried away with the last one I almost exceeded the gross national product of a developing country to send it. Maybe I'll just toddle off to bed. I live the Scarlett O'Hara philosophy of life: "Screw it. Maybe it will be fixed when I wake up." Or something to that effect.