I was working at our dining room table early this morning (like 8:30) when I heard the distinct rumble of the bulk pick up trash guys entering our neighborhood. Actually, Fred heard them and started to growl. He doesn’t care for them. Probably has something to do with the giant claw removing stuff from his property.
This is when I remembered that the husband and I had still not cut down the 2 almost dead trees in our front yard, and I simply could not deal with looking at them for another month. I happened to be at a good stopping point with the project I was working on, so I threw on a baseball cap and running shoes and then ran out the front door with a chainsaw and a burning desire to be destructive.
Using a chainsaw makes you feel so…tough…and strong. I made way more cuts than I needed to because I just wanted to keep chopping. Or is it sawing? I even thought about yelling “TIMBER!” but I didn’t want to scare the old lady walking her prissy little dog.
This story gets better. I was still in my pajamas. In the front yard. And, my burly man of a husband was sitting inside surfing the internet in his underwear while his girly little wife went chainsaw massacre on two sad trees. Our poor neighbors.