Too Much Nature

For those of you who have never been to the Great Lakes State (especially for you desert-dwellers who only know what grass is because you used to play outside on a small patch of it, which you called "The Green"), here is what Michigan looks like:

 Except, of course, during the 14 months of winter; then it looks more like this:

Anyway, what I’m getting at is the fact that the Michigan countryside is definitely lacking in the blacktop and concrete department. I’m seriously right now, you guys. And I know that’s not the right conjugation of the word “serious”… I was making a South Park reference. Sheesh. Here’s another: I’m super serial. There is so much nature out there… it’s, it’s not natural (said aloud in my creepy Blair Witch Project voice).

So, Breezy and I were out at his parents’ house, which is a cute log-cabin-style house in the middle of BFE, and we were preparing for a party (which was AMAZING! There was a pig roast, tons of yummy food, karaoke, and a million other things that are so cool that you wish you could have been there), and Breezy’s dad suggests that we “help out” by trimming the weeds along the driveway. This sounded all right at first (it was the least we could do, right?), but what you don’t know is that this place has a driveway that’s a quarter of a mile long and is surrounded by a dense forest, (which is probably filled with animals, demons, and savages – according to authors like Nathaniel Hawthorne), so you can’t even see the house from the road. To unsuspecting travelers, it is as if the place doesn’t even exist. You could scream at the top of your lungs out there and I doubt anyone would be able to hear you…

(Cue scary movie sound effects that make you want to piss your pants, but you can’t leave the theater to find the bathroom because you want to see if the hot guy comes in to save the day.)

So there we were, each of us armed with a pair of clippers, trimming away the weeds one giant thorn-covered branch at a time. It wasn’t so bad at first, but as the sun went down (as it tends to do every now and then), the bugs came out. And not just the “oh, dear, there’s a bug on you” kind of bugs. Swarms of “someone get me an effing flame thrower so I can torch these effing bugs!” kind of bugs. It wasn’t pretty. The more we clipped the sweatier we got and the bugs started to stick to us.

The muggy heat mixed with the West Nile that was seeping into our veins, causing delirium, and before we knew it we had made it halfway down the driveway. That sounds like an accomplishment, I know, but don’t be fooled! That means there was still the OTHER HALF! 

Fortunately, we were unable to finish and here’s why:

Close up of my sweat-covered face and torso, showing that I am the character with the largest boobs, so I will be the first to die in this horror movie.

Zoom-in on the thorn-covered, bug-infested, 6-feet tall weeds.

 A twig snaps in our general area.

Breezy and I look at one another, fear in our eyes.

There is a loud animalistic grunt, which causes both of us to look back at the weeds.

This is what I think is in there:

There is a lot of high-pitched-little-girl-like screams and the sound of our feet hitting the gravel as we both high-tail it back to the safety of the porch.

We look at one another again, shame in our eyes, for we know not which of us was doing the screaming.