Dear Lawn,

What the hell do you want from me?  I aerate, fertilize, weed, mow, trim, use $60 of water on you a month and you still look like crap.  You only exist because of my HOA and if I find a way around that, you are dead I’m telling you.  I sweat and worry and you give me a lackluster performance which is embarrassing. I have a master’s in ecology–specifically grass ecology, don’t you know that? And I’m a gardener to boot, you are damaging my street cred in the ‘hood.   You take more work than all my perennials combined and you are only about 1,000 square feet.   I specifically chose a house in a new urbanist neighborhood with small lawns because I don’t need the stress of trying to maintain a species that needs three times the amount of precipitation we get here in the semi-arid grassland of the Front Range.  So you know what?  I give up.  You can look bad if you want, I’ll spend the time I save not working on you on my pretty flowers such as indian blanket that know how to treat a person who loves them. Screw you, lawn.

My husband has always expressed his fondness for plays.  I’ve never liked them, especially when singing is involved.  I’ve only ever liked one play “Kiss of the Spider Woman”–and that one only because it has a scene where two men kiss, causing my husband’s 85 year old grandmother to loudly proclaim “Oh My..” in a dead silent theater.  We all still laugh about it. 

One play my husband’s mentioned over the years he enjoyed was “A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum”, so when I heard they were coming to Denver, I got two tickets for his Father’s Day gift.  I had no idea what it was about, other than the vauge notion that it was a comedy set in ancient Rome.

So we get to the theater, and having bought tickets online without looking at the map of the place, we are brought to our seats.  They ask us to go to the front…and to keep going.  We had two seats literally right next to the stage–you could touch it.  My husband called them “crotch seats” which was vulgar but apt, as I would soon find out.  Right before the show started my husband leaned over and said “I should warn you, it’s a little sexist”.  To give you an idea of what he’s referring to, here is a list of the characters:

A lecherous old man

A lecherous young man

A lecherous middle aged man

A vapid virgin sex slave who can’t tell the difference between 3 and 5

A fat ball busting wife

5 other prostitutes dressed as 1. a belly dancer 2. a large cat 3. Twin 60s sex bombs from a bond film, 4. An Amazon

A Pimp

After the scene where the prostitutes come out high kicking I understood what he meant by his name for our seats…..and I asked him what his definition of “little” is.

My neighbor related this hilarious story last night:

Her husband had to get a physical and he was looking over the doctor’s orders.  He noticed “digital rectal exam” on the list and was impressed, and commented something to the effect of:

“Look honey, they now do these digitally, it must be a scan or something, Thank God for technology!”  His wife–who is in healthcare–gave him a look, put her index finger in a hook, and wiggling it said,

“It’s ‘digital’ not ‘digital’”

When they were both relating this story his defense was “Well, I’m a technologically savvy guy right, I was thinking digital, you know 1001001!”.

The next neighborhood over heard us all laughing