Just as I got out of the shower Monday morning, I heard Poppie beating on my porch or my railings, I couldn’t tell which but it makes a very different noise from someone knocking on the door. This has always been his preferred method of rooting me out of the house.
I quickly jumped into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt to cover my essential nekkidness and opened the door.
Big Foot and Hobo/Mimi were standing in the yard with him. I was delighted to be on everyone’s must-see list so early in the morning.
Poppie wanted me to come out and work on the tater bed with the overgrown St. Augustine grass. I reminded him that it was Monday and I had a temp job for the first time in two years.
“I thought you were going to help,” he said.
“I intended to help if you had done it Saturday.”
“I think I’ve been snookered,” he growled and huffed off in the direction of the tater bed.
After work, I went by the pizza joint and got a pizza to make it up to him. This was before I found out he had saved most of that grass for ME to plant.