For the record, the “G” on the adorable flowerpot housing the soon to be dead begonia (or whatthehelleveritis) does not stand for “Granny” or any variation thereof.
Just because I have potted begonias and poodle statuary, on my front porch does not mean that I have thrown out the thong panties and dry martinis in favor of Depends and Metamucil, but I do understand your concern.
Spring lasts about fifteen minutes in Texas. One day you are freezing your ass, and the next, you’re neked in the backyard with sweet tea and a paper fan from the Baptist church trying to keep your boobs cool.
Saturday it was spring, so of course, I decided to smear sour cream all over the cement poodle on the front porch, because Martha told me to. Or, maybe it was the lady at the thrift store with the missing eye teeth, I don’t remember, but someone (who seemed like they should know), told me that if you put sour cream on cement and bake it in the sun, then you end up with lovely aged patina that is all green and shit.
Thank God, spring is almost over.