Throughout the drought, I have refused to allow my garden to die, preferring to water it enough to just make it suffer. "Enough already," the plants seem to scream. "We're ready to go."
"And what about the drought? Any suggestions on how to save my garden?" I asked, perhaps a little sarcastically.
"Oh, are you dry down there? The farm just got three inches," he crowed.
"What did you do to deserve rain?" I asked.
"It's like I was telling the boys down at the coffee shop. I was just walking out of church and it started to rain," he said mockingly.
"Which did the boys have a harder time believing? That you got rain or that you went to church?" I responded.
"You actually recall turning the little white knob and seeing the flame go out? I respond to myself.
"Well, no, I don't remember but I am sure I did!" I think.
I am what is known as an "extreme worrier".