So last Saturday Petey and I were sprucin' up the front yard. Last fall we had a huge blue spruce taken down which left us more space to work with. We moved a few hostas around and put some potted plants on the stump and called it good.
It wasn't quite good enough for Petey, though. He decided we needed mulch to set the whole thing off.
He made several trips to the hardware store for bagged mulch - the good stuff. Should have borrowed a truck from "Tomas the Magnificent" but didn't think we'd need to make so many trips. Lesson learned.
I was hoping he'd be done by the time I returned from Jazzercise but I guess I didn't dawdle long enough and felt I should pitch in - without gloves. I rarely wear gloves; I just never think about it. Besides, my hands always sweat when I wear them and I can't feel what I'm doing. Makes for dirty fingernails but that's what those pointy metal files are for - right?
Anyway. We spread and we spread and, damn, if it doesn't look nice.
Oh, I almost forgot the reason for this post.
That was Saturday and on Monday I noticed a small bump on my arm. Then I saw another on my thumb. Crap! Poison ivy. Well, no biggy. I can deal with two bumps. And then . . . . it exploded on my mid-section.
I've been dabbing with calamine lotion and my neighbor gave me some magical soap that's supposed to help as well.
It's been a week and it's all still there and a few more bumps have made an appearance, too.
Ah, the beauty of yard work. Is this considered the "fruit of my labor?"
Between the bruised thigh and now what looks like a road map of "red" on my belly - I'm a marred mess!