The Many Works of Pat Hatt
August 15, 2016
I’ve always had a fascination with gardens. It is not one your mind would instantly go to though. My fascination has always been why someone would want to take all that time to grow flowers that last for a short while and then die off. That and why anyone would want to dig through the dirt that they used manure in a while ago to grow said flowers. But thankfully, I can keep my mouth shut when I try really hard. That was the case with Amanda, the garden nut.
We moved in together a short while back and everything was great. I did make her shower after digging in that dirt. She thought it was because I wanted her to cool off after being outdoors for so long. I guess she got it in her head that I feared she might get heat stroke. Who was I to tell her any different?
I can admit that our lawn looked like something out of one of those magazines. You know, the kind that Photoshop everything and pretend it is real. Do they even make magazines anymore? The ones in any office I sit and wait at are always five years old. One even said Pluto was still a planet. Talk about out of date information. Oh, right. I better get on with it before you are bored.
She spent most of the day out in that thing. It was like the garden was her second lover. I swear she would have done the landscaping if there was a way. FYI, all her landscaping remained outdoors though, if you know what I mean. But I persevered as I got the one thing any guy wants pretty regularly. Plus she did grow some mighty fine veggies in the backyard. That saved me money.
Speaking of money, do you think she had a job? Nope! She said gardening was her passion and that was her purpose in life. If only her passion of digging through manure paid the bills. The meager royalties from a poor starving author doesn’t really cover much. Thankfully her parents were rich though, so we had that going for us.
But soon, as the fate of many spoiled rich brats, her parents cut us bums off. Instantly I was the one to have to go and get a “real” job. She couldn’t leave her precious garden alone all day because it needed to hear the sound of her voice. So, I did what any landscaped or not whipped guy would do, I went and got a “real” job.
It was a decent paying job. It covered things like the mortgage and your normal house bills. But having a roof over her head wasn’t enough. Her garden wasn’t getting the water it needed. Did I mention it needed pure spring water? Rain or tap water would not do. She even put a tarp of her precious gardens when the weather called for rain. So obviously I needed to get a second job to pay for the needs of her gardens.
That right there was the last straw. I know, I know. I should have hit the road long ago, but that one thing was very good. So I packed my crap and left her in the house her parents helped us buy and left her with the bills that came with it. Hey, I wasn’t stupid enough to put anything in my own name. She and her garden can enjoy the expenses that come with home ownership all on their own. Plus her parents thought I was a bum. Being an author can get that response. So they wouldn’t let my name be on anything. I like my first reasoning better though, don’t you?
Life went on and her gardens began to die. I saw her every once in a while and I got an evil glare. I thought it was only a glare of hate, but it turns out there was something more there. A few days after I last saw the garden nut her parents mysteriously croaked. She got everything and within two weeks the gardens in the front of the house were flourishing once more.
If you are thinking what I was thinking at the time, you are right. The cops couldn’t find any evidence for charges to stick though. How am I so sure when they weren’t? I am getting to that, so hold your horses. Whoops, I used a cliché. Would that be cliché or just some stupid saying? I’m not in the mood to look. Heck, I can’t go look. There is no internet connection where I’m at. I don’t even know how I’m typing this out. But we’ll just go with it.
She showed up at the door to my new fleabag apartment another week later. She had veggies and apologized for being so hard on me. I wasn’t taking any more of her crap though. So I took the veggies and pushed her out the door. I know, I pushed her. Call 911. That is such an awful thing to do. Is it out of your system now? Good!
I cooked dinner up and ate the veggies she left. And that is when I found out what had happened to her parents. The room started to spin and the last thing I saw was her smiling at me through the window. Then everything went fuzzy. Where I am now I have no clue. A restless spirit on the prowl maybe? But I do know where my body is. It is currently under the dead veggie garden in the back of her house. It is matching the dead gardens in the front of the house rather well. What was that? You thought the front gardens were flourishing? I’ll get to that.
It turns out she used some poison on me that has some big long name I can’t spell. That’s what I get for always turning to Google in life for spelling. That, or not becoming a doctor. Anyway, the poison that I can’t spell has no effect on flowers or any other plant life. It actually is less damning to them than some pesticides. But what it is more damning to is to those who eat it. If you eat pesticides, you may or may not get sick over time. But if you eat food grown from the poisoned body of the man you killed and buried beneath your garden for fertilizer, you suffer the same fate.
So I guess you can say the garden nut choked on me. A fine fate for her and her gardens. Maybe I’m here as a warning to all vegetarians and people who eat healthy. If I had eaten crap like so many others I’d still be alive. Or maybe if I hadn’t dated a garden nut. I know, the later would make more sense but it doesn’t sound as philosophical. I’m dead, cut me some slack.
In closing all I have to say is one should date people who care about landscaping more within than without. Oh, that was rather good. Too bad I couldn’t have come up with that when I was alive. That and a little junk won’t kill you as fast as a garden nut. Also, be sure and know what you’ve got growing beneath your garden before you eat it. Better yet, just buy it at the store. Way easier. I better go before I end this more times than Lord of The Rings ended. I wouldn’t want to show them up. Happy haunting!
There we go. There is my write, edit, publish show. A few days early, I know. But that is how may garden does grow. Or die in this case. Are you a garden nut? Oh, and stupid blog won’t indent paragraphs or get rid of spaces. Must be some coding thing.
Enjoy life, forget the strife.