If you came looking for the Garden and Gun magazine, you came to the wrong place. No, instead I'll be talking about my garden and a giant gun the kids played on this past weekend.
First, my garden is actually producing some tomatoes. I'm shocked by my good fortune but I'm rolling with it. I was too late to put a cage around the rather fast growing plants on one side so I put it around the slower grower on the other side.
As you can see in these pictures, they're both growing fast. Much faster than expected.
And the tomatoes are just sitting there, waiting to turn red. I'm not a huge tomato fan, but damn I can't wait to put these on the grill with some onions. Or potatoes. Or something.
I also had to transplant my peppers. They were just completely stunted in their growth. Between the tomatoes and the marigolds, they looked like weeds down there. So I moved them to where I had my radishes and spinach (which I pulled out in a short moment of rage over them not growing to my expectations - through no fault of their own mind you, I was the dumbass that didn't know how to plant them).
And then we come to the gun portion of the post. Yes, I let my kids play with a gun this weekend. Yes, I even ignored them while they pretended to do all sorts of things with said gun. And before you go off half-cocked, maybe you should look at the gun?
You see, the whole family volunteered at a local triathlon on Sunday (not only our wedding anniversary but also Bastille Day!) and we got to see a ton of super-athletes run by us. I was amazed at how fast yet slow they were. It was a 10k course but I was thinking they'd be flying through it, especially the leaders, but it seemed to take forever. Maybe it was just because I was baking in the sun, working on my sunburn lines. Anyway, it was fun to watch them and to help them out as they made their way by us. I know I'd never make it in a triathlon so even though I really wanted to shout something like "I'm so happy to see a fat guy running, good luck!" I opted to play it safe and simply say "good job." Thankfully for me, I stuck with that nearly the whole time. Nearly. When I did manage to open my fat ass mouth and say something I thought would be motivating, I ended up getting the stink eye of all stink eye looks and humbly went back to standing in the road looking like pretty in my orange vest waving around my flag like I forgot my baton at home.