I like to keep all my euphemisms for women's genitalia in one spot.

I like to keep all my euphemisms for women’s genitalia in one spot.


One day, many years ago–okay, maybe not that many, but some–I thought the ancestors said to me, “tend.” Which seemed a weird thing to get whispered in your ear and also, perhaps, a wise thing. Everything does need some looking after.

In that spirit the Butcher and I moved the rose to a spot where it should be happier. I planted astilbe where the rose was unhappy. I fed all the roses and cut out some privet. And then I was sore. So sore. Honestly, no wonder babies cry. All those muscles doing new things for the first time. Possibly they would be happier if we rubbed them all down with Bengay at the end of the day. I wrote a thing. I sent an email making sure I’d gotten a part of Project X right. I finished a book I needed to read to write the thing I just mentioned. I did some stuff to get the sunny end of the garden ready for spring. I picked out which plants I’m going to let flounder there again. Ha, no, this will be the year something grows there. I swear! And I vasolined the dog. Which is odd.

And the Butcher ate all the cookies. Which makes me sad.