Summer is finally here, and if you live in Minnesota , or any of the northern God-forsaken snow-filled-temperature-so-low-it-makes-your-butt-pucker states, it's truly a reason to stay alive.  Because unless you like winter sports like snowmobiling or skiing, winters around here truly suck donkey.  This last winter was especially long, and just when you were going outside to set up some icicles in a snow bank with the tips pointed up and impale yourself, you look at the calendar scotch taped to the fridge, and notice that it's April, and it has to get warm soon.  Mother Nature might be in the house late at night robbing you and casting a bent eye at your wife lying peacefully on the bed, showing just the hint of her fair breast, but the temperature has to get above 40 degrees Fahrenheit, or the whole freaking system is going to be out of whack.  That means if Mother Nature doesn't do something quick, it'll be down in central booking, getting tossed in the can with rapists and drunks who are dying to explain the meaning of the word “thrust”.

            But finally it's here in all of its glory.  70 warm degrees; light fluffy clouds; birds chirping at four freaking thirty in the morning; mosquitoes the size of flying iguanas leaching blood out of your jugular; wood ticks sharpening their pinschers; and oh… don't forget the worst thing…weeds!

            My wife and I have a very small lawn in the back, and one even smaller in the front of our house.  Even with the two back surgeries I've had this year, I can hobble mow both of them in about thirty minutes, so I don't expect Arnold Palmer coming around to check out my lawn to see if Tiger can play through.

            My beautiful bride has an entirely different attitude about this. Every weed in our lawn is not only an insult to her, but our families, our unborn grandchildren, unwed mothers, the NAACP, the Rotarians, half the state of Utah…oh…and don't forget the most important group of people of all…the neighbors!  What would they think of us if we had dandelions in the yard?  And Creeping Charlie?  You might as well sleep with your sister!

            I went out on the back deck one morning with my cup of coffee, still a little fuzzy after staying up late playing Call of Duty: World at War on my PS3 with my step sons, and there she was, acting much like the sharks on the Discovery Channel after they throw chum in the water.  She was wielding a weapon called a dandelion popper—she looked a lot like VonHelsing plunging a stake in the heart of Dracula himself.  Only there were hundreds of dandelions.  She stared at them with grim determination as she stalked each one, her muscles moving like that of a lioness in a herd of baby wildebeest.  Up, down, stab! Pop!

            It's not really her fault for acting like a homicidal…err…herbicidal maniac.  Each day, we are inundated with commercials from the hardware stores and big box nurseries that say our neighbors will be watching us and our lawns to see if we stack up.  In one, the actor says it right out:

            “I didn't want to be THAT guy on the block that couldn't take care of his lawn.  I'd rather be thrown in the can and taught the meaning of the word “thrust”.  And my wife”, (the camera pans to the wife and the two-and-a-half kids alongside the golden retriever, tongue out and panting) “well, (he chuckles) she would leave me for her lesbian lover, and sell my kids into the white slave trade.  That's why I use Schlubs Weed and Feed EXTREME.  It not only kills those (expletive) dandelions and (expletive) crabgrass and the Godforsaken (expletive) Creeping Charlie, it makes the grass so green and plush that…why…here he is now!”

            (Arnold Palmer, naked, enters)  “Do you mind if I roll around on your grass?  I have to make sure Tiger can play through.”

            “Why sure!”

            He looks back at the wife, and she beams her approval, but you can tell she's thinking about the lesbian lover.

            “So use Schulbs, unless you want to be the biggest (expletive) loser on the planet.  Otherwise, your grass will be so bad, a wildebeest wouldn't (expletive) on it.”

            The scene ends with all the neighbors lining up by his white picket fence, applauding him for his wise choice using Schulbs. Arnold gets up from the grass, gives him a thumbs up, and then Tiger walks in with an eight iron.

            See what I mean?  There's too much pressure to keep up with the Joneses, especially when it comes to lawn care, and the commercial industry won't let us have a break.  We are made to worry about our lawns, our hair, what our armpits smell like, that nasty acne problem, and our carpet in the house. Did you know your carpet is filled with microscopic animals that look somewhat like the monster in Alien ? Egad! I was almost ready to call the guys from the CDC to come in with their haz-mat and tear out all of our carpet.

All this forced paranoia is shoved down our throats on a daily basis, so unless you live in a cave in northern Alaska , feasting on roots and berries and the occasional mouse, you are bound to be affected by it. So I understand my wife, wreaking blood thirsty havoc amongst the weeds, casting nervous glances at the windows of our neighbors. What's really scary, is that every once in a while I see them looking back at her, nodding their heads in approval.

            So I sat back on the deck in my jammies, drinking my coffee, thinking at first that this would make a cool short story about murder in the suburbs.  And then I thought that I shouldn't piss my wife off too much, because I might just be one dandelion away.

You see, I think Creeping Charlie is kind of pretty.