I got my very first rotor-tiller this weekend assuming it would make a hard job ever so much easier and faster. I envisioned myself gliding along the mountain of weeds, row after row. Just me and my tiller skipping through the soil with not a care in the world.

In reality, when I turned on the machine, it went one way. I went another. It was a buck, thump, hop and tug dance from the pits of hell. By the time I was able to turn the thing off and go inside to, "please Lord", mercifully pass out, dirt and weeds were everywhere. I swear to you, I had a dandelion petal stuck in my teeth.

Living by the motto, "I'm a loser, not a quitter, I returned to work in heavier shoes with 3 glasses of water to hopefully give me some weight leverage. I rocked. I fought. I cursed. My hands and feet vibrated and my teeth clacked but I did not give up. Then I noticed several dark shadows passing overhead. Turning off the machine I saw 6 buzzards circling right over my head. (I swear I am not making this up) They did the same damn thing when my dog was dying. Miserable bone pickers!




"Frack you, butt wipes!" I shouted to the sky. (frack is my substitute for the better and far more satisfying swear that I'm not supposed to be using so much any more)





On I went. I tilled up bricks, golf balls, and a plastic hand. Then the back of the tiller flew off.

"Yeegads! I've killed it!"

No such luck. It was just the back panel to the battery pack. So we had to go to the hardware store to try and find new nuts and bolts. Bob drove because nobody particularly wanted me touching anything at that point. For some reason he drove with the windows down even though we have air conditioning. Guess he wanted to enjoy the spring air.

While we were sifting through various nuts and bolts I overheard one of the store employees talking to a customer. "Phew! Boy that is a ripe smell isn't it?" A little while later I heard a similiar comment. I left the aisle to see what they were talking about but everything seemed fine to me. When I turned to go back and help Bob, I noticed he was fanning his nose. hmm.

All at once, I had this humiliating notion. I raised my arm and sniffed my pit. Seemed fine to me. But the woman coming round me gave me an unusually wide berth. Could it be me???? I honestly didn't smell a thing. Course I have heard it said that people who stink rarely notice it themselves. I guess we'll never know.

Labels: buzzard, dance, earthquake, garden, stink bomb, suffer