It happened. I am THAT woman.

It's 92 degrees outside, on what Jesse calls a chaos cleaning day. I have enough done in my garden that I can take one day (well I did plant three herb transplants and fertilize some containers, but that's nothing) off from burning the doohickeys out of myself. Laundry it is.

(Interspersed with a Netflix on demand festival for the children of Avatar: The Last Airbender. Keeps the computer occupied so I will actually, you know, clean!)

Anyway, I was walking from the back, recycling the bathroom reading materials when I saw it out the front door. It was eating my cherry tree. Right in front of my open front door. If you know me, you know what a misdemeanor that is. I screamed. I dashed my recycling to the floor, saving one magazine for rolling it up and brandishing it as a weapon.

Picture then, if you will:
a middle-aged, overweight blonde woman in a sports bra and khaki capris,
screaming and chasing a deer down the street.