He did it very smoothly, letting me know that he was going to go out and grab some soil for the backyard project - the project that has been months in the making and that never seems to end. The elusive, the mighty, "Let's Plant Grass in a Desert Climate" Project. The insurmountable project that E has determined will not defeat him. The "Let's Plant Grass in a Desert Climate" Project that just keeps on taking...money from our "Fix up our Master Bedroom and turn it into a sumptuous, sexy den of ....LUST" Project. Of course, I haven't told him what project he's missing out on. I'm withholding like that.
And so he took the van and went to pick up the soil. "Soil", by God! That is how he described it. What he failed to inform me was that he was going to pick up that incredibly fragrant Organic Cow Manure soil. Yes, THAT stuff. In a minivan. In 103 degree heat. A perfect storm of heat and cow turds. And don't let the Organic label fool you. Organic cow shit stinks, too. The other piece of this is that my husband owns a pick-up truck. A. Pick-up. Truck. Yes. A vehicle that some people use for PICKING THINGS UP. Hence the name - Pick-up. You would think that a pick-up truck might, just possibly, appear to be a better choice for picking up such fragrant materials? But, NO.... the pick-up truck is too full of tools and the minivan is just SO available. So the 2004 model minivan is being treated kind of like "the old, washed-up" wife and the 2000 Model pick-up truck is, apparently, The Mistress. That's the bottom line. No, the bottom line is that the smell will now be with the van for days. Days.
Just a sample of the torture that is known as our ...PRESENT LIFE or riding in our minivan:
BOY: EEWWW...YUCK! What is THAT smell?????
ME: It's cow manure, BOY.
BOY: Why? [Why what?? Why in a minivan, PERHAPS? Why did Daddy do this TO US?]
ME: Because your daddy filled the van up with cow manure. [Slighty passive-aggressive Mommy is mad at Daddy voice.]
GIRL: Well, it REALLY SMELLS! I'm going to plug my nose!
E: It's your mommy's FAVORITE smell! HAHAHA
[If the children hadn't been present and I hadn't been strapped into my seatbelt he would be a dead man. And... I was prevented from answering due to the strange sensation of my nostril hairs melting out.]
Yes, my husband is tormenting me. Torture by cow manure. He released "the soil" onto the backyard. And... the smell has now permeated the outside walls of the house, entered the living room, and now... is WAFTING into the office - is nothing fucking sacred, by GOD?! He's been working his ass off spreading the stuff in the back yard, dreaming of his "Let's Plant Grass in a Desert Climate" Project. It will never happen. Never. Trust me. How do I know this? I have two small children under 5 who believe in digging in dirt, chucking dirt, and basically dislodging well intentioned grass seed. And there's the small matter of LIVING IN A DESERT CLIMATE. Oh well... This is ONLY the 2nd or 3rd or 4th time said husband has tried to get the grass to grow. I'm not sure I've got the stomach for a 5th round. I'm all boxed out.
Honey, the perfect backyard lawn isn't coming in. The grass is not always greener and sexual relations are better without eau du cow CA CA. It's too bad, too, because when you bent over the wheelbarrow it was absolutely delightful. I almost reached for the fishnets...but, then I was ASSAULTED by the SMELL of Cow Dung and thoughts of romping through the bedsheets have well... just gone. POOF! Obliterated. If ever there was a smell that would ensure never having sex again, this would be it. Perhaps there's hope in
this lifetime 24 hours... Hope that I'll still be here. With fishnets wrapped around my nose...
Your loving wife with blown out olfactory organs
**Picture credit: Google Images