It is unseasonably warm in Chicago this week. I almost wrote “unreasonably” warm, but when it’s 80 in mid-March, you do not look a gift horse in the mouth! You fall to your knees in gratitude, blow kisses at the sun, and writhe around in the sheer pleasure of not wearing multiple layers.
You shave your legs. That’s how nice it is in Chicago right now. Yeah.
Yesterday, while recovering from the pie making orgy (for the record, I’m not a fan of pie), I stepped outside to revel in the warm sunlight. We have a lovely yard. Twice the size of our last one, untouched and full of possibility. Big trees, wonderfully shaded in the summer. However, the messy scrub brush and untamed trees along the back property line must go. It hides wildlife, including skunks (but the deer from last week was lovely). I poked around there yesterday to see if I could see where our property line was, and to wonder if our back neighbors would care if we just ripped out what was technically on their property.
Hm. That’s odd. What’s that blue fabric there?
HOLY SWEET MOTHER OF OH MY FREAKING ARE YOU KIDDING ME WHAT THE HELL?
Apparently the scrub brush hides all kinds things, as there was a pair of men’s boxers next to my garage.
I’ll let you scrub the ewwwwww off that mental image now.
I cannot begin to imagine a non-sexual reason for underwear to suddenly appear in my yard, however hard I may try. No rubbish bins nearby, no other houses, and they sure as hell weren’t there last fall. Suddenly, putting in a fence has taken on a higher priority. I’m also wondering if we have the motion sensor on the wrong side of the garage.
Ah, spring in Chicago. When you writhe around in the sheer pleasure of not wearing…boxers.
The mind boggles.