Die Bug Scum

My flowers were very pretty. Past tense. In the past, of historical note, back in the day, antique.

Something ate them. Chewed the leaves, gobbled the flowers, snacked on the roots. Sucked the life right out of them.

Slug Bastards.

Slugs. In my plants. Near my front door. Slugging up my stairs, slugging up to my doorstep. Within slug sliming distance of my body parts.

Needless to say. This means war. I bought Weapons of Slug Destruction. Slug bait. Little tiny Slug Traps. Slug motels. Those bastards killed Mary Marigold! Damn it! And her sister flower Susan and little Timmy Flower. Timmy was just a sprout; he never even had a chance to bloom! Sob.

The slugs must go. Now.

Lowes has an entire section devoted to Chemical Weapons. There are millions of bugs and not every weapon works on every bug. You must buy the right one. Bring the wrong one home and the little bastards will do the backstroke through it. Laughing. At You.

Numerous plant experts told me that my potted plants were being eaten by slugs, counseled me to score Slug Bait. So slug bait was purchased. I took the dogger for a walk, ate dinner, watched a little Law and Order and psyched myself for the Big Event.

Slug bait looks like fish food. Slug chow. Eat up buddies. The Nice Lady is here and she is handing out candy. Ummmm, nummy treats! Tasty! Here Sluggy, Sluggy, Sluggy!

While the slugs are chowing down I pulled out the Grass Killer. I spend time, money, sweat and blood on my grass and now I am killing it – But just the naughty grass. The weedy stuff really. The bad grass growing in my walkway.

I need to mow the good grass this week if it would stop raining. It’s going to get all long and thick and hard to mow. Who am I kidding? The weeds are going to get all long and the clover is going to get all thick and hard to mow. At least its green. The back yard is back is back to looking like a motocross course after the race, hmm. That’s an idea. Would the Motocross people give me some sort of Motomoney for use of the yard?

If I have no control over the backyard, I can still poison the front yard into submission.

While in the Chemical Weapons isle at Lowes I picked up some Mass Spectrum bug killer as well. My little veggie babies are protected. They don’t seem to be growing, but they aren’t going to get eaten either. I will kill them all by myself.

The rose bush is blooming. I do not touch the rose bush. Needless to say, it is flourishing.

If I went away for a few weeks my carrots would win ribbons. I’m here everyday and they are going to die. My garlic is doing positive growy things. I haven’t heard from the potatoes yet. I think they moved without leaving a forwarding address. Bastards.

While my flowers are disgracing me in front of the neighbors, I am not putting my laundry away. I have a mountain of it. Prior to the Ice Age, I pulled out my summer clothes, thinking I could do the whole seasonal wardrobe switch. It’s a mess, but it’s for a good cause. It is still a mess and now its winter again and the cause is looking less good. I also have laundry sitting around and left over clothes from the trip and all that stuff to put away…

Or.

I could think about painting the entryways, the bathroom or the office. I could search for the perfect table for the front entry. Something little. Not too little, but small. I don’t like spindly-legged tables or colonial style. Ikea? I wanna, but I don’t have custody of the catalogue and the website is lacking. Goodwill? Flea Market? Haunt the curb looking for treasure in the trash?

There are so many things I could do instead of putting my clothes away. I could empty my dishwasher, figure out what the new mystery odor coming from the sink is, vacuum the living room, unearth the dining room table…

If I put off Mt. Laundry, the kitty might get crushed in the inevitable landslide. If it is there long enough it may spawn its own baby tees. Wildlife could ensue. Slugs could ensue.