Written May 9, 2009
As I was (euphamistically speaking) "preparing the garden" for plowing this week, I had the following thought:
A real man doesn't know sexy until he's seen his woman standing on a 10-foot pile of steer manure, throwing it by the shovelful into the back of his F250 pick up. Wearing a fuschia handkerchief. And a denim skirt. In the wind. With wrap-around eye protection. For 4 hours.
(Ok, part of that time was spent throwing said manure on the garden, then refilling the truck with HORSE manure, and throwing THAT on the garden. Next year: bags of steer poo from Home Depot. I'm just sayin'. Christmas presents of poo are ok. Just ask my sister Lynda. I gave her steer poo for her bridal shower.)
The saving grace? The eye protection was more Dale Earnhardt than welding class. My life's pitfall at the moment? Using a Dale Earnhardt comparison as if it's a positive thing for a girl.
Love from the farm,