If the rain will consent not to piss down at least until mid-afternoon, I volunteered to go tackle Blissfish’s overgrown-lawn problem, before the Gummint Enforcers come to haul her away (or at the least to mow the lawn themselves, and charge her a ridiculous amount for the privilege).
You want to get a Lone Star girl, with her cast-iron curls and her aluminum dimples. Fnord.
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