After fixing the string in the string trimmer (also called ‘weed wacker’, folks, but I prefer ‘string trimmer’. I also say ‘bandage’ as opposed to ‘Band-aid’), running out of gas and refilling, noticing the poison ivy and my lack of long sleeves, I decided the best place for me was the shower.
I like being the boss. Anger was my boss, so I quit. I let the guys finish the job with highly effective and silent scythe and clippers. The string trimmer is awful.
When I dried off, I put on a faux crushed velvet dress. Wine-colored, spaghetti straps, and two high side splits. When I put it on, I felt a bit better. My hand still smelled like gasoline (stinkin’ gas can - this is why I wear nitrile gloves…usually).
I put my denim shop apron, a gift from my Dad, and covered my dress. Back out in the nursery, I was still aggravated and chopped back exuberant Late Purple Asters, Blue Heart-leaved Asters, and Woodland Sunflowers. I pulled weeds in the hoop house. I potted up Wild Geranium, Solomon’s Seal, and Blazing Star. The plants were my boss and my aggravation slowly, slowly faded.