I really wish that my neighbor would realize that, honestly, I just don’t care. Our homeowners’ association cuts the grass often enough that I don’t feel like I need to go out and do it myself. And you know what, I pay them to do the landscaping. That’s great, because I honestly don’t care about that stuff.
But my neighbor doesn’t get that, probably because I’m nice enough to pretend to care about yardwork when she prattles on about it. [I listen so that she’ll tell me other things going on with her, things I might actually care about, like her lot in life, the state of her soul, etc.] So while she was awful joyful just now that her father had come to help her sod her miniscule back yard—and it’s small, folks; it’s not much bigger than the size of the patch of grass under the net behind the goal on a soccer field!—I was … non-plussed. I think that she picked up on it.
As Mom said when I moved in here, one of the reasons that she figured that I’d move into a place like this was because someone else would get to mess with the yardwork. She’s right!