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My boy went with moron

One of the hazards of living in the desert is that most of the plants are very pokey. Or stabby. Things which look soft definitely are NOT. You just learn to deal with it. Don’t touch the plants, that’s my motto.

Somehow this year our front yard went to hell. Literally. There are a million, A MILLION, goathead stickers out there. They attach themselves to your shoes,

Look at these evil bastards

Look at these evil bastards

your clothes, your aura. They’ve made it into our house. We’ve pulled a zillion thorns from our feet. There have been a couple of times when I thought the only recourse was amputation of a foot.

I am of the opinion that we need to set fire to the front yard.

I set this scene for you so you can see how stupid I was this past weekend.

I went out to fetch the newspaper Sunday morning. In my pajamas. With no shoes. I went out on the walk way and stared at the paper. It was in the yard approximately two steps away from the concrete. I pondered. I debated.

Then I went for it. I figured if I went slowly…

The first step was alright. It was the second step where things went horribly wrong. Imagine me out in the front yard, in my Mickey Mouse jammies, standing on one foot like the Karate Kid in the flamingo pose. I can’t go forward. I can’t go back. I lifted that second foot and saw at least 45 goatheads stuck in my skin. I brushed them off but when I looked at the ground to decide where to place my foot, I saw no clean space. My first foot was in the only clear place in an

Not ocean. Picture thorns

Not ocean. Picture thorns

ocean of stickers. It was a total fluke.

It was like I was surrounded by sharks. Evil, sharp sharks. I had nowhere to go. I didn’t have my phone to call for assistance to Prince Charming on a white steed to swoop me up. Or bring me shoes.

I considered I could simply die there, standing on one foot while I slowly dehydrated. At least I’d have the newspaper to read.

OR I could improvise.

That’s what I did. I executed a yoga move that would have gotten me a 10 by Olympic judges if yoga was an Olympic sport. Balancing on one foot I bent down to grab the newspaper, my other foot lifted toward the sky. I opened the newspaper and laid the sections down using them as toadstools. Remember that game we all played as kids where you had to walk on top of the furniture because the floor was lava? Substitute awful freaking stickers for lava. Stickers are way worse.

I picked up the paper as I moved off each piece and bundled them back up as I went.

I figured I was either a complete moron or a total genius.

The neighbor who clapped probably would have sided for genius.

 

 

 

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