More about that Hate Mail I Always Talk About

I was having a bad dream. But everything about it was real. I was stressing out at the start of the week before spring break, my house was full of people being loud without me, and (here's the part that convinced me it wasn't just a dream) I was about to cry. 

That's when my dad called. 

Condensed version:

"Hello?" I said, still wondering if it was Saturday or Monday. 

"Hey, you have weeds in your front yard. To the left and right side of the driveway."

"Well what other side is there????" I replied. 

Then I went outside to check if I had more sides than I knew about surrounding my driveway. 

I didn't. 

Note to homeowners association: next time, to save me a trip outside, please just say, 'you have weeds-- ALL OVER-- your front yard.' That will suffice.

Then I think I yelled something like, "I HATE YOU PEOPLE!" to the world.

I don't know. The memory is a little fuzzy. But if I did yell it, than it was loud, and possibly a bit unnecessary.

The next thing I knew, I was kneeling down in jeans that happen to have a huge hole in one knee, laughing maniacally, planning to replant each and every one of my weeds in different colorful pots and plop them down by the front door of the homeowner's association. 

After entertaining that thought for a while, I decided, to save on time, just throw my pulled weeds out of the yard, out of the left and right side of the driveway, and into the road. Which, in case you are wondering, I did very dramatically. Like over-the-head, with a smile on my face, dramatically. 

Overreaction? Perhaps. 

It was in the middle of this little escapade that my next-door neighbor, who I have talked to a grand total of 3 times since moving here, came over and said (condensed version), "I already sprayed those weeds. I can see in your eyes that you don't want to be doing this. Hire my son to spray your weeds for you. By the way, are you a freshman?"

First of all, I've lived next door three years. If I'm still a freshman, we have a serious problem.

Second of all, let's not lie to ourselves. There is nothing about my eyes that's saying, "I'd prefer not to pick weeds right now" in a calm British accent. You just heard me yelling on the phone about my unadulterated dislike of the homeowner's blue-colored hate mail. I know you heard me, because after I was done yelling, I glanced over and noticed you finishing a garage sale transaction. You, and your customer, were outside for the whole thing. By the way, I hope you enjoyed the show. 

Third of all, spraying these weeds does nothing to help my current problem. They will not be dead by the next time the homeowner's association makes its rounds. I know this because I have tried spraying these invincible weeds. And if I could bottle up their determination and undying capabilities, I would never have to water my strawberries again. 

Now, a final note, to myself this time. 

Do not fall asleep mid-afternoon. Because it's really better not to act like the orphan child of Mr. Hyde. An orphan child who does not like pulling weeds.