Against Type

Went to Cottonwood yesterday to help Mom with yard work.

In spite of a defunct lawnmower, and the weed whacker from hell, was able to carve order from Chaos and reclaim her back yard.

And the front yard? Well... I had to leave by noon (both for a social engagement and to retain my own sanity*) so the front yard remains amiss.

There's always next weekend, I suppose.

Sigh.

Driving back to Phoenix, I passed a Prius with a stereo-typical, thin-lipped, waspy, 40-something woman behind the wheel and thought, is there some law I'm unaware of?

Just once, I'd like to see a giant, hairy, lumberjack-looking guy with a toothy grin, bushy beard and sweat-stained armpits shoe-horned in there.

Hell, at this point I'd call it even to see the lady in a grimy trucker's hat.

Can I get a witness?

Oowa, oowa?**

*Though having arrived at my 4th decade, the regression from man to child is never more quickly accomplished than in the presence of my own mother!

**"Can I get a witness?" followed by oowa-oowa is the remnant of a rap song trapped in my head. Translated, it means something like "I am speaking truth and ask your confirmation - do you affirm?" Followed by a resounding "yes!"