Going out like a cold, snow covered confused lamb.

Good-bye, March. My usual "Black Hole of Calcutta" time of the year is nearing its end. Living la vida unloca, the funk, the seasonal defective disorder (see, it's the season that is defective...not me). April is around the corner, and I am waiting for that day when I look outside and gasp, "Oh, wow, it's GREEN!!!"

Not that I ever know what to do with it all. I can barely cut grass straight, let alone compile a pleasing to the eye flower garden. I don't get butterflies to my butterfly bushes...I get moths. And the fact that I suck at gardenology will only get better with the new mower my husband went in debt for bought last week. A zero-turn riding lawn mower. It doesn't have a steering wheel. It has two levers on either side of the driver that you alternatively move back and forth to go right and left, fast and slow.

I see crop circles in my lawn's future.

Anywoo, the said mower was to be delivered yesterday. Dear husband prepared a place for it like you thought we had procured a horse, the way he was preparing room and board in the shed. Well, the wrong mower was delivered. No lawn mower to fawn over today. So, when I saw what looked like a huge beanbag chair barfing all over our yard later that afternoon, I turned to pouting husband and said in my best Obi Wan voice

"You don't neeeeeed the lawn mower...these aren't the Droids you are looking for..." I even did the Jedi hand wavy thingy as I said it.

He was not amused. Well, he was, slightly.

So, looking back, I can't recall if March came in like a lion or not. I do know husband o'mine will be back to his lamb-like sweetness once his new mower is finally delivered, and that I know I will never be allowed to mow the lawn more than twice, with all those alien aircraft on our lawn.