It has become apparent to me that we are not getting along. Your soft nest of healthy green has vanished, leaving in place a crusty, bald patch of ground that is a constant source of humiliation for my husband and me. Thanks a lot.
Sure, there are bugs in the neighborhood. But couldn't you fight a little harder? We fed you. Watered you. Spoke kindly (at first) and then with increasing volume as we realized that you were not paying any attention. It's time to say something, dear lawn. Or, as the song goes, we're giving up on you.
You can be replaced. It might be time for a long stretch of perennials surrounded by a rock garden/waterfall. Or asphalt. That's very doable. Whatever, its time to speak up and tell us what is wrong. Is it bugs? Or are you sulking because we decided to go with environmentally friendly fertilizer?
You have a few shorts weeks to decide. Otherwise, you'll be out. Think long and hard, because we can't take the neighborhood peer pressure much longer. To quote the song:
Say something, I'm giving up on you ( I really mean it this time)
And I am feeling so small (And embarrassed. Because you look terrible.)
It was over my head ( I should have read a gardening book)
I know nothing at all (Because I didn't read my gardening book. Or listen to Keith, my neighbor.)
It was over my head ( I should have read a gardening book)
I know nothing at all (Because I didn't read my gardening book. Or listen to Keith, my neighbor.)
That's right, dear lawn. I'm giving up. Feeling small. It's over my head. And I know nothing at all.
sincerely,
the woman sobbing in the living room window
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