The Outdoors…it ain’t my thang.

In honor of Spring and the gorgeous bounty of blossoms and foliage she affords us (or so I’m told) I thought I would address the ever-pressing thorn in my side, the hard truth I’ve come to realize and embrace.

I hate the outdoors.

I touched upon this subject here after experiencing a life-changing moment with a lawnmower. I felt it important to update you all that, well, I haven’t changed.

Facebook has some definite pros and cons. But one thing I’ve certainly come to realize from the constant status updates and wall posts is that a large group of my friends get the “itch” to get their hands dirty when that sun comes peeking its hot little head out from between the clouds.

Um, itch? What would that feel like exactly? About the only time I feel an itch to get outside into the great outdoors is if there’s a fabulous sidewalk sale somewhere and handbags are up to 60% off.

I wish I had that natural affinity with nature. But after really giving it the old college try I’ve come up with some truths which deeply influence my preference for being indoors:

1) The outdoors smell, well, like the outdoors. If Mother Nature could figure out a way to infuse a Fruit Punch Scentsy melt into the air I might consider spending more time out there!

2) The outdoors get hot. I’ve considered going all 19th Century heroine and traveling around with a lace-edged fan and parasol but I’m quite sure that I would need to trade up my yoga pants ensemble into something a bit more parasol-worthy. Like a hoop skirt. But I don’t need any help in accentuating my hips, thank you very much.

3) The outdoors have bugs. Need I say more about that? I mean, who goes outside saying to themselves, “Oh, I can’t wait to encounter a fabulous insect today!”

Now, I’m nothing if not accommodating to certain exceptions to the rule.

Camping. I love to camp! I’m pretty sure the comforts-of-home on wheels probably has a lot to do with that as well as our unspoken agreement that it is perfectly acceptable to drink rum and cokes after breakfast!

Barbecues. I love me some good spur-of-the-moment barbecues with friends. Especially if there’s potato salad. And wine coolers. I’m a class act like that.

I’m really hoping I’ll someday grow into loving the outdoors. I have a healthy respect for all it has to offer I’m just not in the place where I’m ready to avail myself of all its splendor.

My situation is all the more complicated given the fact that I married an avid outdoorsman. For now, I’ll let him experience the beauty of nature and then come inside my freshly scented, air conditioned, bug-free abode and tell me all about it.


I’m No Gardener…But I Can Clean the Heck out of My House!

I’m ashamed. Truly ashamed. Shameful. I have subjected my kids to a side of me that should have never reared its ugly head. There was sweat…lots and lots of sweat. And tears…tons of tears. And there were words…bad, bad words. What tragic scene caused all of this mayhem, you ask? I mowed the lawn yesterday.

It was ugly people. I don’t really know what possessed me to attempt such a noble feat. Maybe I was just tired of the air conditioning inside of my house (yeah, right) or was slightly embarrassed by the unsightly tufts of overgrown grass in my backyard (more likely) and I felt bound and determined to take care of this situation on my own. After all, Jeremy had been very busy lately and quite honestly did not have the time to devote to lawn care. Why shouldn’t I help out? I’m a resourceful woman. I’m capable of absolutely anything I put my mind to. Women do this stuff every day. Pretty soon I’m struttin’ around the house with the determination of Rosie the Riveter and the swagger of Foghorn Leghorn. So, outside I go, my kids following with apprehension.

Where in the hell is the lawnmower? Of course, wedged underneath all of these leftover fence boards. Right. Okay. How do you start the bleedin’ thing? A memory of long ago suddenly rushes to my brain and I remember something about priming and pulling. Got it. I decide to start out in the tiny backyard which is about the size of a poker card…not even the whole deck. Easy peasy. I jauntily wave at my kids – who in all honesty are about as shocked at my behavior as I am-and I push ahead. This is when true hell begins. I immediately get the front wheels stuck in the flower bed and bark-a-mulch is flying at me from under both sides of the death machine. And the sweating begins. After I manage to lift what felt like a 700 pound machine out of the bark I set off and drive right through the hydrangea plant cutting off the whole front section leaving scratches bleeding down my right forearm. Enter the tears. I steal a glance at my kids braving a smile to reassure them that all is okay. Until I run over the dog poop. Then it’s all over. I start cussing a mean streak out there sending my kids inside, presumably to get their father. And this is where he finds me…standing in a pile of dog sh*t, tears streaking down a dirty sweat-laden face, bleeding profusely from my right arm. “I’m done,” I whisper as I limp to the back door, slipping off my soiled shoes. And that folks is the last time I will EVER mow my lawn.

My place belongs inside the house folding laundry and watching all the various romantic entanglements on Days of Our Lives. And I am not ashamed to admit it. Well, maybe the Days of Our Lives part a little bit but have you been following the Sami/EJ/Rafe storyline? It’s getting really good…

Love to all, Mindy