2 posts tagged “garden”
I spend every nice-weather moment I can at the botanical gardens. Walking around, reading, studying, anything just to be close to the lovely plants there. My workday was strange and a little off-putting, so as soon as I was finished for the week, I raced to the garden.
Strolling around yielded a lot of good springtime scents. Tulips, some lilacs, Sweet Breath of Spring. Many pleasant odors (except at the northernmost point-- that smelled like the church's dumpster lying just beyond the wall). A few lazy bees, a few lazy squirrels, some vocal yet lazy birds were all doing their things. It was a lazy day all around, so I decided to be lazy too. I parked myself on a wooden bench, shifted so I was lying on my side, and began to drift in and out of dreamland.
Eventually, I woke a little bit due to the shouts of some toddlers on the other side of the garden. They ran past me a couple of times, but the dream I had been having was good and kind of funny, so I kept my eyes shut a bit longer. And then I heard... rain? I wasn't wet though, so I opened my eyes.
Not rain, it was a man pushing a three-seater stroller with the toddlers in it. The stroller rolling across the gravel path sounded like rain. I sat up and smiled as all three toddlers waved at me, and I waved back. As the man continued pushing the stroller, the older girl of the group twisted to look back at me, and shouted, "Nice nap!"
"Yes!" I replied.
But really, it sounded like a compliment. I feel as though I should have answered, "Thank you."
In my front yard, there lies a thong. White, edged in cotton-candy pink. It stands out against the green green grass of home, as well as the brown brown mud. It appears to be made of cotton, nothing fancy or lacy, yet it also appears delicate-- perhaps that is because there is no "butt area" in a thong.
It is not my thong. I do not wear granny pants, but I do like my ass covered literally (as well as the usual figurative ass-covering that I try to remember at all times). It is just resting on my lawn, in a careless position, as if it is saying, "Don't mind me, I'm just lingerie. Nothing to see here, move along." It isn't fooling me. It is women's underwear in my front yard, and it isn't mine.
I am not saying that my underwear often ends up on the lawn. I keep it in a dresser drawer. However, laundry bags rip, suitcases pop open, things happen, and sometimes I am so caught up in my head that I might not notice the ground for a day or two. Or five.
But this thong... sitting there, mocking me, knowing that I won't touch it because it's not mine and God knows where it's been, but daring me to do so all the same.
I will win this standoff. The thong will have to give up and go first.
