Ewwwww!

I would say that our backyard smells like a Tijuana outhouse, but (1) I’ve never been in a Tijuana outhouse and (b) that would probably be unfair to Tijuana outhouses.

It’s my fault. Sort of. I guess. I mean, I did leave a trash bag of grass clippings on the porch last Thursday when we headed off for vacation. I didn’t expect that it would rain twice during our absence, and I certainly didn’t expect that those grass clippings would take on the characteristics of the worst-smelling substance(s) you can imagine. But there it is. There are fewer flies swarming around a two-week old pig carcass in the middle of August than are on our back porch, and if you look really closely, they all have tiny clothespins on their little fly noses.

Did I mention that it’s really gross?

Grass clippings in and of themselves should not be able to mutate into something that foul smelling. Perhaps I’m mowing over herds of little frogs or mice or other creatures and their dead little bodies are decomposing while mingling with the clippings. But, surely I’d notice that. Wouldn’t I?

Maybe that last round of fertilizer was comprised of or contained something I’d rather not know, and it imputed (is that the right word?) its horrible qualities to the lawn.

Well, whatever. It’s just sad to think that we’ll have to spend the rest of the summer wearing hazmat suits in our backyard.