By New York standards, our backyard is huge, an L shaped plot roughly the size of our entire apartment. We share it with our landlords and they (for reasons entirely beyond the gods of real estate and my understanding) just don’t give a fart about it. So. Sweetheart and I started the this-is-a-rental-but-what-the-hell-renovation-project last year by dismembering a regulation size basketball hoop that was back there with a Sawz-All. When I told my Mama that we got landlord approval to hire Kevin the Hatian (as it says on his flyer) to cart away the remaining 25 years worth of debris, detritus, and scrap metal away, she sent me this:

and said:

Unless you’ve had a tetanus shot since you graduated from high school (within the last ten years [ed. note: ouch]) your immunization has lapsed and it would be very prudent for you to get a booster before you start messing around in all that debris which very likely contains elements of rusty metal.

I can’t help it.  I’m your mother.

Mama, don’t worry, in lieu of a prudent booster, I have an appointment to get a mani/pedi afterwards. Neither is covered by my insurance, but they don’t have groupons for tetanus shots (yet).


Author: loiseaufait

Little by little the bird feathers its nest, and object by heart burnished object we surround ourselves with lovely necessities of memory and function. It is these things that make a silly Apartment a Home or a silly Wednesday an Occasion. Whether my nest is an old farmhouse, a sixth floor tenement walk up, or a brownstone basement... whether I share it with family, vagabonds, women of heart and mind, or a little brown cat and a sweet ginger banjo, my principal joy is filling it with light and laughter (and corralling).

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