This morning started out as many of our Saturdays do. Unless our big girl has a soccer game, I wake up ready to tackle lawn maintenance. Every weekend, BG and I clock at least some time out there. Our routine is pretty tight with basic mowing, weed-eating, edging, and cleaning up taking us about two hours if we work together.
Today, though, between the mowing and the edging, I had to break for a hit of first aid. In my attempt at mowing as much as possible (to spare BG the horror of extra weed-eating, which is the most reviled yard task), I got into a tangle with a giant briar bush that grows along the back fence.
^See that red box? That is all briar bush. It's taking over a satsuma tree, two lime (or something) trees, and is allowing a ton of junk trees to grow near the fence because we are not able to get in there and chop them down.
These things are built for violence. WARNING: The following photo may be too graphic for sensitive viewers.
I know, right? Horrible.
Oh, you don't see the.... Jeez, embarrassing. Here.
The briar bush thorns engaged with my thigh (no jokes about providing ample surface area, por favor) and clung steadfastly as I attempted to pull away from their grip. The four little holes are now puckered and sensitive. Owie.
Anyway I asked BG if he was ready to go out there and kick some briar bush tail--to DEFEND HIS WIFE'S HONOR--and he totally was. And then our chainsaw crapped out. The briar bush isn't sparing any punches. I don't know what sort of voodoo it cast on our chainsaw, but we didn't see it coming.
Since we were outside anyway and motivated to work, we tackled a few old flower beds that have been overtaken by vines and weeds. BG dug out root systems, and I hauled limbs to the street. But don't worry about my leg--I only limped when BG was watching.