Christian will have to wear a shirt over his wife beater.

We're no longer the white trash neighbors, which means no more sitting on the front porch with a shotgun handy to keep away the damn kids. My mom weeded our entire front yard, shaming us into edging, pruning the hedge and planting our vegetable garden:
















Our lawn will forever look like fifteen kinds of crap, however, as we refuse to fertilize and aerate and all of that really labor intensive crap. My parents simply don't understand our lack of lawn attention. Theirs looks like a golf course and my dad takes unearthly delight in mowing it twice a week. I just don't care that much. It's all coming out in a year anyway to make way for my English-style courtyard complete with artistic fountain and wrought iron benches. Ooooh, and penguin waiters. And raspberry ice. And a white lace tea dress. And Dick Van Dyke. Who would need a fifth of scotch. Never mind.