Mrs. Butterface’s Big Sunglasses

Friday night the skies opened and dumped buckets on us. I stood under my deck and watched the rain pool and puddle as the ground struggled to absorb it. The forecast for the rest of the weekend was a mixture of more such rain punctuated with some heat and sunny skies.

This mattered to me not just because I enjoy heading outside on the weekends, but also because the mixture of rain, sun, and not-too-hot heat is the ultimate trifecta for my yard. The grass in my yard is sentient. It is evil. It just sits in the back yard and, with help from the moisture in the air, formulates diabolical plans which will ultimately lead to my demise. I think the goal is to continuously force me to mow in the middle of the day, but on a hilly yard with several spots that are wet and slick with hidden mud, so that I’ll suffer heatstroke, slip on the mud, and fall underneath the mower. As a man who ties the safety handle down, I am poised to be an unwitting participant in the yard and the moisture’s plans.

Naturally, after I finished mowing the slightly damp savanna that is my yard, having only narrowly averted being lawn mowered to death, the forecast changed to sun, sun, sun  for the remainder of the day with the rain chances pushed out until the middle of the night. I could’ve waited for dusk after all. Murphy, you bastard!

I’m not one who takes lemons and rubs them in my eyes or whatever the opposite of making lemonade is, though. I take lemons and I make vodka Collins. In this spirit, I realized that my Sunday was now delightfully free of any yard work and the family and I could head outside for some fun. Woke up at 5:45 AM (Murphy!) on Sunday and checked the forecast. Thunderstorms. Murphy again! I couldn’t let that bastard win, so Penelope and I decided to throw caution to the wind and take the kids to the pool.

Of course, our staunch defiance of the forecast meant that the sun came blazing out. Life was good. I was chilling at the pool with the kids. I always wear sunglasses at the pool, even when I’m swimming underwater. One can’t be too careful. Moreover, this one really likes scoping out the milfs at the pool and sunglasses allow for more thorough scoping while guarding against crossing into the realm of creepy. From a distance, the talent was out at the pool yesterday. My elder started playing with two other kids. Mom was alright, though a bit light in the junk in the trunk for my tastes. From a distance, I saw the winner for that day’s pool outing. Her kids were in the full-sized pool. She was sunbathing poolside. Her kids decided to head to the large kiddie pool where we were as my kids don’t know how to swim yet. She followed along. She’s right next to me.

Yikes! Not sure if it was natural fishmouth or if it was botox gone wrong. Not sure what else was going on there. From a distance, there was harmony. Up close, chica was looking less harmonious and more like Bette Midler. I was nonplussed, though I should not have been. I should have expected what I saw.

There is a menace upon us. It is the menace of large sunglasses. Those things make too many chicks appear way more chickadee than they are when their eyes are naked. It’s time to stop it. I’ve opened a dialog with my grass and it is helping me formulate a plan to put an end to this scourge of babe-scoping, this obscurer of faces. I can’t be sure that my yard isn’t secretly trying to sabotage me instead of helping me with my mission, but my poolside enjoyment is dependent on successful eradication of this menace, so I have to give it a shot. If this is all just an elaborate ruse to lure me underneath the lawnmower, you’ll know soon enough. It will take me a while to learn to type with my face, so posting will be light.