I’m sure it comes as no surprise that I was kind of a bump on a log this past weekend. Breaking your cankle and consequentially being unable to walk will do that to you.
Alright…technically I can walk. Kind of. There’s some serious limping involved, and people keep asking me if I would like a wheelchair or crutches.
While I don’t think a wheelchair or pair of crutches are necessary, I would like a disability parking pass so that I wouldn’t have to limp so far whenever I need to run an errand.
Correction: So I wouldn’t have to swagger so far.
Yes–I’ve replaced “limp” with “swagger” as a last-ditch effort to salvage some of my dignity. (So far it hasn’t been very effective.)
I’ve been considering using Scott’s old brace from when he broke his neck as a makeshift handicapped parking permit. Surely, no one would question a vehicle with a soiled neck brace dangling from the rearview mirror, right?
I suppose we’ll never find out as Scott tossed the brace out the instant his neck had healed. Leave it to him to save me from myself without even knowing it.
As luck would have it, last weekend was the first time in ages that Scott just so happened to be full of energy he wanted to expend. Swaggering across town didn’t seem like my idea of a good time, so he was left to his own devices.
Once given permission to do whatever he wanted, so long as it didn’t involve bouncing around the living room asking me if I wanted to go to the lake for the fiftieth time, he jetted out the door. Approximately ninety minutes later he returned, complete with a guilty smirk painted across his cute little face.
“Where have you been?” I asked, my voice infused with a hint of concern.
“Oh…just the nursery,” he coyly responded.
“Why on earth would you go to a nursery?” I screeched. “People are going to think you’re a child molester or something!”
Scott rolled his eyes.
“It was a nursery for plants, not a nursery for babies.”
Oh. Right. Obviously.
“Okay…but why? We just bought a ton of new house plants at IKEA…what could we possibly need at the nursery?”
“I had to replace that hydrangea you killed.” he shot back.
Ah yes…the hydrangea. Hydrangeas are easily my favorite blooms, and also happened to be our wedding flower. A few weeks ago, we picked up a beautiful plant with blue blossoms to help bring some color to our back deck.
The plant started out looking like the floral version of Heidi Klum at the Emmy’s. It ended up looking more like the New Jersey tanning mom.
Leave it to me to prove that hydrangeas can in fact get skin cancer.
Scott ended up replacing the dead flowers with a brand new bush of lime green hydrangeas, which I prefer anyway. The downside is that unlike the blue flowers, which only required a weekly watering, the green versions need to be watered on a daily basis. I’m going to try my best to remember to keep them hydrated…but I’m not making any promises.
“So…how much did you spend?” I inquired.
I took the long pause and shuffling of feet to be a very bad sign.
“One hundred and twenty dollars.” Scott finally mumbled.
“One hundred and twenty dollars?!? On a hydrangea??!” I screeched.
A child-like smile slowly spread across Scott’s face. He looked up at me, his expression a mix of guilt and delight.
“I kind of bought a topiary.” he confessed.
It was the absolute best excuse he could have come up with — honestly, I couldn’t even be mad, despite how badly I wanted to. I’ve always dreamed of having a topiary. Actually, I’ve always dreamed of having a hedge maze, but a topiary is a good start, what with us not having a yard and all.
“I love topiaries!” I exclaimed, “What shape did you get? Circles? Is it an animal? Oooh, I know! We could pay someone to shape it like Jolie!”
“It’s just a tree, it’s not shaped or anything. It kind of looks like a cone.”
While disappointed I wouldn’t be adding a green, bushy seahorse to my deck, the idea of a topiary excited me. Plus, it was a blank canvas. If I was feeling inspired, I could try my best to sculpt it into something fabulous over my lunch break. Perhaps a handbag? Or a silhouette of me Turbo Kicking?
Just then, Scott burst through the front door with the newest addition to our plant collection. My jaw instantly hit the floor.
Let’s just say it was less of a dainty topiary, and more of a giant Christmas tree.
“Umm…that’s kind of big…don’t you think?” I asked.
“Nah. We need something big to fill that back corner out there. I think it’s going to be perfect.”
“It kind of looks like a Christmas tree.” I remarked.
“Exactly!” Scott exclaimed. “I figured this could be our tree this year…we can just add some lights and keep it outside. That way we don’t have to drag out that stupid fake tree in the garage.”
This is the part where I call blasphemy.
That “stupid” tree is a beautiful, pre-lit, Martha Steward creation that I woke up at 4:30am on Black Friday 2007 to claim. I literally drove through a blizzard to get to Macy’s in time for their opening, and then hauled all seventy pounds of that “stupid fake tree” down two flights of stairs and through eight inches of parking lot snow where I then proceeded to spend twenty minutes figuring out how I could possibly fit it into the backseat of a Corolla.
That tree didn’t just cost $99. It cost me my self-respect, a hefty portion of my mental well-being, and what would have otherwise been a really good hair day, had it not been for the stupid snow.
That tree is not getting replaced.
But I’m open to the idea of giving it an outdoor friend.
“Can I put some decorations on it?” I asked hopefully.
A verbal answer wasn’t even necessary. It was clear from the look he shot me that the answer was “no”.
At this point I may have performed the most pathetic swagger I could muster, dejectedly dragging my lame self across the spanse of our living room as a final attempt to change his mind.
Let’s just say this strategy was quite unsuccessful. You win some, you lose some.
Fortunately, Scott has great taste when it comes to all things plant-related. The topiary looks perfect on our back deck, as if it should have been there all along. I’d go so far as to say that I don’t think I’ll even need to shape it into a handbag after all…it works beautifully as a year round outdoor Christmas tree.
Yet still…I couldn’t help to think that it was missing something.
Decorations were obviously out…but Scott never said anything about presents.
I mean…it’s completely preposterous to have a Christmas topiary without any presents beneath it. Just ask Santa Clause. Plus, checking the topiary for gifts each morning will be a great way to remind myself to water the hydrangea while I’m out there.
It’s called multitasking, people.
Although, I’m not quite sure any of the future presents I might find beneath it’s oh-so-Christmasy branches will be able to top my beloved sandals. After receiving a fabulous pair of Tory Burch Flats for Valentine’s Day that accidentally cost $500 more than they were supposed to, my addiction to all things TB has been slightly out of control. I’ve been eyeing these logo thongs for months, and bought them online last Saturday morning after drinking an extra cup of coffee and suddenly realizing that life is far too short to wear ugly flip-flops.
I think this proves once and for all that sometimes, making coffee at home can actually end up being more expensive.
But do you want to know the worst part?
Given my broken cankle, and the swelling that has resulted, the right sandal doesn’t even fit right now.
Apparently, Santa has a killer sense of humor.