I started a garden this weekend.
That’s actually a lie.
I tore down a couple of my Murder Sheds this weekend and was left with two rectangular patches of dirt. I spent the next eight hours playing in that dirt, raking up old nails, pulling weeds and respectfully disposing of any mummified cats I found. I surrounded them with a wobbly wall of cobwebby bricks that were piled around my property and proclaimed, “These are my gardens.”
Then I saw a few more weeds and noticed that the ground wasn’t level, so I started digging around in the dirt again. I’ve been doing that for three days now. At this point I’ve dug and re-dug the same empty dirt plot so many times that if my neighbor suspected me of hiding a body and called the police, I wouldn’t even be angry. I’d shake her hand for being so vigilant about reporting suspicious behavior.