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From a Tree Falleth...
Nov. 5th, 2004 10:38 amI am willing to have sex with anyone who will rake and bag my leaves.
Alright, alright, so that’s going too far in the name of chore evasion. But the fact remains that the leaves are now knee-deep in my yard and sometime before the landlord hears a complaint about them I’m going to have to dispose of them.
As lead tenant for our 3-unit house, raking up the leaves is one of the responsibilities that entitles me to my generous rent reduction. Were the landlord not fabulously gay and residing in California, I might be tempted to earn my rent cut via a more old fashioned method (he’s quite attractive...), but as it is, I agreed to prostitute my hours at leaf removal, and there are a lot of leaves.
No matter that the front yard is the size of a conference table, and the back yard the size of a child’s bedroom. The leaves blow in from hither and yon, shunted by the wind dynamics on our street so that all the leaves from the houses across the street blow over to the yards on my side. Technically none of the leaves are mine because there aren’t any trees in either my front or back yard. The leaves are thus our leaves in the sense of collective community within Bay State Avenue. God clearly favors the people on the other side of the street because he rakes their leaves for them. In a fantasy socialist universe we would all report to our yards with rakes and smiles on the same day and hour to manage our leaves together as One. But this is Somerville. We don’t even know who lives next door.
I am the wrong person to be lead tenant. I have a life outside the home, and that presents numerous and unending conflicts of interests. A good lead tenant should be someone who is home every minute except for trips to the hardware store for more leaf bags or a toilet plunger. Their Saturday nights should consist of taped sitcoms and Swanson frozen dinners. They should have no friends, hobbies, or personal goals. They should have cracked and stubby fingers. The ideal lead tenant is 55 years old and has never been outside of Massachusetts.
Thusly, the leaves are still in the yard. Except now they’re wet from the rain, and will stay that way. They will clot and fight vigorously against the bag. I daydream of looking down affectionately from my bedroom window, massage oil and flavored condoms in hand, watching some strong and able someone who is raking up my leaves and will upon completion be ascending to my boudoir to reap the promised reward.
It’s as good a daydream as any, for such as I who am doomed to rake. :-)
Alright, alright, so that’s going too far in the name of chore evasion. But the fact remains that the leaves are now knee-deep in my yard and sometime before the landlord hears a complaint about them I’m going to have to dispose of them.
As lead tenant for our 3-unit house, raking up the leaves is one of the responsibilities that entitles me to my generous rent reduction. Were the landlord not fabulously gay and residing in California, I might be tempted to earn my rent cut via a more old fashioned method (he’s quite attractive...), but as it is, I agreed to prostitute my hours at leaf removal, and there are a lot of leaves.
No matter that the front yard is the size of a conference table, and the back yard the size of a child’s bedroom. The leaves blow in from hither and yon, shunted by the wind dynamics on our street so that all the leaves from the houses across the street blow over to the yards on my side. Technically none of the leaves are mine because there aren’t any trees in either my front or back yard. The leaves are thus our leaves in the sense of collective community within Bay State Avenue. God clearly favors the people on the other side of the street because he rakes their leaves for them. In a fantasy socialist universe we would all report to our yards with rakes and smiles on the same day and hour to manage our leaves together as One. But this is Somerville. We don’t even know who lives next door.
I am the wrong person to be lead tenant. I have a life outside the home, and that presents numerous and unending conflicts of interests. A good lead tenant should be someone who is home every minute except for trips to the hardware store for more leaf bags or a toilet plunger. Their Saturday nights should consist of taped sitcoms and Swanson frozen dinners. They should have no friends, hobbies, or personal goals. They should have cracked and stubby fingers. The ideal lead tenant is 55 years old and has never been outside of Massachusetts.
Thusly, the leaves are still in the yard. Except now they’re wet from the rain, and will stay that way. They will clot and fight vigorously against the bag. I daydream of looking down affectionately from my bedroom window, massage oil and flavored condoms in hand, watching some strong and able someone who is raking up my leaves and will upon completion be ascending to my boudoir to reap the promised reward.
It’s as good a daydream as any, for such as I who am doomed to rake. :-)