IN PURSUIT OF COLOR

So I got this coupon in the mail the other day for a free quart of Glidden paint. Always one to enjoy a freebie, I quickly visited the website and selected my winning color, a most lovely shade of reddish(ish).

Okay, fine.
So I don't really know what my color selection was called because "they" (the apparent paint naming gods) tend to come up with crazy names I could never remember. Names like buttered sweetcorn, guilded pear, or frosted pine. Sheesh, why does every can of paint need to be a "newborn baby" just waiting to be named?

Now if *I* were to have the coveted paint naming job, I assure you your trip to Lowes would be much easier. Forget all that buttercup sweetcorn fluff. Friends, you would be free to explore paint colors like sunburned red, fake-bake orange, or my own personal favorite, puke green (because every mom or auntie knows what that color looks like. Much easier to remember, yes?)

We recently painted our kitchen green(ish). According to the paint naming gods though, we officially have not a green(ish) kitchen, but rather (look out, here comes the posh name) a "dry grass" kitchen.

Ooookay.

Ironically, we actually have plenty of genuine dry grass, only we have another posh name for it.
We call it our yard.
And let me tell you, our yard is the most beautiful shade of "dry grass" you've ever laid your eyeballs on (snark, snark.)

Seriously? We've tried every trick we can think of to obtain to a more refined shade deserving of a really posh name. You know. Something like, oh say, "Alive Grass"?
Yes, "Alive Grass" would be a nice choice. But not happening, I tell you. No amount of watering, weed-n-feeding, organic wheat glutening, or scolding (yes, I even yelled at our grass in frustration) has made one iota of difference. It seems that dry grass is our resident color.

And naturally, the nextdoor neighbor is the poster child for Better Homes and Gardens.
And get this. It's a B.I.G. secret what makes his lawn so green (Toni waves hands in a most sarcastic manner as she rolls eyes and spits nails.)
I've never seen Chemlawn over there and his children don't run around with third eyes or anything, so I have to believe him when he says he uses an "organic" product. But,...what?
I called the local co-op. They had no idea.
Carl asked him what he uses. You'd think the neighbor choked on a butterfly, what with his trying to dance all around the answer to avoid telling us. I asked his wife, who quickly deferred back to her husband ("Oh, J does all that. You'd have to ask him, but it's something organic.") She even snickered, yes SNICKERED, as she laughed an annoying little "wish you could grow some green grass, don'tcha" laugh and boldly pointed out to me, "Our yard is even greener than C's yard and he uses Chemlawn, hee hee."
Why, I oughta!

So a lil' gift came today. I saw it in the in-flight shopping magazine when we flew to Albuquerque recently. (do those mags carry thee coolest overpriced products or what?)

Aeration shoes.
Eureka, I found it!
Carl needs aeration shoes.

It wasn't a thought I could simply push aside, what with our lovely perpetual shade of "dry grass" and all. So I ordered them. And they came today. And it was sunny and just a perfect day for stompin' around like a manly caveman in your brand new aeration shoes.

"Will I look like a dweeb in these?" he asked.
Me, eyelids batting, "What, in your man-boot aeration lawn cleats? Why noooOo, honey. No. You won't look dweeby at all. A bit Clampetty, perhaps, but definitely not dweeby."
I reminded him that J (a.k.a. Home and Garden) played basketball with his kids in our cul-de-sac one Saturday morning, wearing nothing more than a bathrobe and a smile. Ewwww, now that was dweeby looking. And the family across the street occasionally gets their drink on and then makes dweebs out of themselves for all to see. And then there's one who, well, just IS dweeby, plain and simple. So, no. Walking around in his Clampett aeration shoes couldn't be that dweeby.
Right? Because when it comes to yard-czar of the year, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.

Ah! What we won't do to keep up with the Jones's.

Toni