The grass is always weedier on my side

I love this time of year.

The world is so green and shiny it looks expensive.

From a distance the green expanse is like a bit of emerald perfection because — and this is the important part — if I don't look too closely I can imagine that it's all green grass. Lovely grass, lush and splendid, for as far as the eye can see.

Of course, that's a sham, a lie, a weak grasp at selfdeception.

This isn't the lush, expanse of sod-o-glamor it appears to be, for hidden among the grass, waiting to overwhelm it, is a mess of [insert curse word of choice] weeds.

I take it all personally.

While I have enjoyed...