I'm Out

So...about love.

Some people, from some sort of 70's movie about people dying and crying, say that 'love' means never having to say 'you're sorry'.

Agree to disagree.

'Love' means taking the outside trash that is filled with a zillion pounds of dog crap to the curb for the curb side garbage pick-up tomorrow.

Reasons, you ask? Well, here you go:

A) tomorrow is trash day and Jose gets here earlier on trash day than his other "sleep under my tree" days. Not even kidding. The entire crew hangs out all day doing nothing.... with the exception of trash day and Alex's nap time...then they decide it is time to use their leaf blowers and get here at 8am.

B) Someone* still has a running injury and is complaining it is "hard" to walk.**

C) The aforementioned bag of dog crap also contains the dead mouse carcass*** our garage door squished and that smells so bad after cooking in such insufferable heat and humidity most Africans would say it is bad.

Yeah. So if there was ever a doubt, I am in love.

*That would be Luke. Either he is really hurt, or brilliant.

**Not even kidding, we are logging this injury much like the oil spill. Currently, we are day 42 and Anderson Cooper is

milling around my house with a camera crew. I know.

***Not.Even.Kidding. I really can't even go into it (that's what she said), it was so bad. And I am throwing the shovel away with too. Oh, and by 'mouse' I mean 'rat'...so says my neighbor Mr. Shaprio...after he asks me why I killed his flowers. But 'mouse' sounds nicer....and I like that.