or the devil is in the discards
Okay, so years ago we transformed the crap-heap that was our backyard into a much more palatable sanctuary, complete with retaining wall, lush vegetation and amazing deck. We replaced the downed trees with two exquisite red-hued flowering plums guaranteed not to bear fruit.
Works for us. A few years passed, they filled out nicely, blooming pink in the spring and casting a lovely shade in the summer. When it came time to stem the blistering heat in the front of the house, we jumped at the chance to replicate the beauty of the back in the front yard. It worked out so well in the back, why not, right? Only these specimens didn't get the no-fruit memo. These fuckers had their own agenda.
Oh, the first two years were perfect. Standing tall, being all pretty in pink and shit. Rich red leaves glistening attractively in the sunshine, casting a long, cooling shadow over our sweaty brow...
|Beauty before the Beast|
Then in the third year I noticed a small round orb dangling from a lower branch that look suspiciously like ... a plum!
WTF?!?! That's not supposed to happen. This has to be an anomaly. A one-time event. These trees are fixed, for Hell's sake. The next year there were a few more, and then a few more the following year. At this point the fruits weren't the fullest, but large enough to use in tarts, so, okay, kind of a win there.
|Angry driveway face spewing plums|
|Good God! Make it stop!|
I can't walk across the lawn without feeling the sickening splat under my feet, staining my Clarks. And Dude, you never EVER mess with a girl's shoes.
|the jagoffs, lurking|
Of course I can't let them lay because their smooshed hulls will A) attract bees and B) the freed seeds will strike, fulfilling it's insatiable need to propagate all over the goddamn yard. So I spent most of the morning hunched over with my derriere in the air like one of those hideous wooden garden cut-outs of a flowery fat ass bent over.
Not. Charming. At. All.
As I was cursing my aching hamstrings, I realized these trees are like gorgeous women. You swear you're not going to take anymore of their high-maintenance bullshit, but then Spring rolls around and they're all flirty and breathtakingly beautiful, washing away the memory of all the annoying crap they put you through last year, that is until the next time they piss you off by dropping copious amounts of shitz on your head.
Anywho, I no sooner finish filling a five gallon bucket with the devil's droppings, when that beyatch drops another load. Now she's just dicking with me.
I swear I heard her snicker.
Geo thinks my
And then I set his hat on fire with my laser beam eyes superpower... causing more plums to rain down.
I think I need a vacation.
So, this is my Sisyphean task. Every fucking day I fucking pick up the fucking plums.
Screw you, Nature. You may have won this round, but screw you.