Bonnie and I were sitting under the arbor Friday in the late afternoon, admiring the backyard. The privets were getting taller and fuller and the new juniper was shooting up. The backyard was finally becoming secluded due to strategically placed vegetation. The lawn was green, the air was fresh with the smell of distant rain, the sun was shining through the clouds, and the birds were singing.
On Saturday, Bonnie and Becky went to a yard sale. They came home as I was lying on the swing under the grape arbor, soaking up my backyard ambiance. Becky’s radar homing device acquired a lock on me and I heard the panic-inducing sound that strikes fear into the heart of every fighter pilot: beep, beep, beep. "Daddy, can I have a swing set—it’s free". Beep, beep, beep. Bonnie happened to mention "it’s twelve feet wide". "Becky, I don’t want a big piece of junk in the backyard." "Daadeeee". A long, pouty face, complete with crocodile tears pursued me for the better part of an hour. Beep, beep, beep. I climbed, I dove. No escape. Her radar was relentless, mercilessly maintaining the lock on me. I went downstairs. She followed. I went outside. She followed. I locked myself in the bathroom. The beeping stopped. Silence. I was safe.
We now have a free 13-½ foot wide swing set at the back of the yard, under the apple tree. It is large, unavoidable, and made of blue and white painted steel. Becky loves it.
2:31:49 PM 
|
|
