My Dear, Sweet Neighbors,

I just finished mowing my lawn.  As I sit here, devouring a sandwich whilst brushing off bits of leaves and grass clippings -- on the floor I just vacuumed two hours ago, I can't help but feel a bit of guilt at the complete and total lack of "giving a crap" I seem to have for my lawn.  And so, I find myself in need of apologizing...apologizing to  you dear folk for having to endure my slovenliness this entire lawn-mowing season.

I apologize, my dear neighbors, for leaving my lawn to look as though the entire place has been abandoned.  It's not. Although, to hear my next door neighbor tell it, he never sees me, hermit that I am.  So, perhaps I have abandoned it.  I suppose what I've really abandoned is the idea that my lawn is ever going to look like anything other than what it looks like -- that being the anti-thesis of ANY lawn care advertisement upon which you've ever viewed.  In retrospect, I pretty much abandoned those notions as my tender, young self was learning the finer points of lawn care lo those many years ago whilst still under my parents' tutelage. When I had to trim the edges of stuff with hand trimmers, I pretty much decided lawn care wasn't for me.

Dear neighbors, I also apologize for the dead flowers you had to look at most of the summer.  I started off with such grand intentions. A green thumb that would blossom into all sorts of green fingers.  But then the monsoon season hit ... and then the humidity ... and I no longer cared about anything. Nothing at all.  You precious people had to sow what I reaped.

I must also apologize for my non-Pinterestesque front porch decorations.  I really try to make a cute, rustic-looking front porch.  But even my headless scarecrow has bowed his headless ... what? ... his headless head? ... in defeat ... in shame. It is pititful.  I acknowledge this. Bless your sweet hearts for the atrocities you must endure.

As this season winds down to its inevitable end, my dear neighbors, I ask that you give me grace. Perhaps, as the 2016 season rolls around, by chance some miraculous event that could only be described as serendipitous, will occur, and I will become the neighbor you always hoped I would be.

The Chick that owns that Hot Mess on the Corner


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