My husband recently came home with Weight Watcher’s tuna. I’m not exactly sure if this is his subtle way of telling me I’m getting a fat ass or if he is secretly taking revenge on my Wii for telling him he has a fat ass. Either way, I put loads of mayonnaise in it to even things up a bit.
I’m now up on the hill and alone. My husband leaves for the ship this weekend and so he is busy organizing his stuff in the city. Before he left he decided to plant a small “orto” for me. This is a small vegetable patch. I’m not quite sure why he thinks that I would be able to tell the difference between a weed and parsley but bless his heart for having faith in me.
Obviously he didn’t read the fine print in our wedding vows which clearly states the following: Sex: sure! Cooking: only if it’s calorie induced and bad for me. Cleaning: I’ll give it considerable thought. Gardening: Don’t make me laugh.
Two years ago, before we were married, I planted a garden here. It died a slow painful death in the sun while I was back in Canada trying to get a work Visa. One year ago my husband planted giant broccoli plants and lettuce. Only the lettuce survived. A million caterpillars (bruco) took up residence on the broccoli and had a feste to remember.
By the time I got around to finding out a caterpillar solution all the broccoli were reduced to pathetic green sticks in dirt. I even emailed my dad and he suggested that I pick the caterpillars off by hand and then squish them…can we collectively say “EEEEUW!”
So now, I have a new garden looming in the field. My husband ran around giving me instructions for this manure and that. Is he kidding me? I’ve got tomatoes, basil, beans, zucchini and parsley. Lord help me, I’m still trying to figure out how to get those pesky lasagna noodles to stop breaking while carefully placing them in the pan and not burn my fingers in the process. Haven’t I got enough on my plate at the moment?