Pruning, Mowing and Shaking Your Guts to Smithereens

Here is my tip of the day: If you value your internal organs, don't run a Bush Hog over a field that has previously been mowed after a rain by a tractor.

I think my boobs lost a pound each. My stomach ate my esophagus, and everything was snogging my diaphragm.  For hours and hours and hours. (I've been watching Torchwood from the BBC lately if you're wondering where snogging came from. Although, my Brit friend Carol, my age, says it's an old slang.) If I didn't already think I was drain bamaged, it'd probably be a good idea to make sure I didn't rattle it.

If you value your pocket book, don't try to fill the gas tanks on a Bush Hog.  I put 6 gallons in it today (it holds 10), and it was $24.03. Criminy.  The reason I mention this, besides just griping about the cost of gas, is because Joe chewed me out Sunday for finding a reason everyday not to do what I knew was needed, i.e., mow the lawn.  What Joe can't comprehend is how much it costs to mow 7 acres, and that's why we're (I'm) not mowing so frequently.