tea and sympathy

I like the Brit DIY Home/Living shows. I’m addicted to BBC’s Changing Rooms, House Invaders, Ground Force, Design for Living, Life Laundry, and the best of all: House Doctor.

House Doctor shows tips for people that are having trouble selling their homes. The host and narrator of the program is the very lickable likeable Alistair Appleton … mmm… Alistair. But I digress.

The House Doctor is actually an American, Ann Maurice. She’s no nonsense, brutally honest, and not very diplomatic. "What were you thinking? Flowered carpet and stripped wallpaper? It looks like a French tart's boudoir." I love her.

One thing I learned from Ann is when selling your home do not neglect the exterior. Curb appeal is important. The buyers’ first impression starts when the car door opens. So mow the lawn. Tidy up the yard. Paint the front door. A few pots of colorful flowers on the porch put the potential buyer in the right mood before he’s ever stepped inside.

Since I’m selling my house I decided to tart up the landscaping a bit. I usually leave the outdoors to my lawn service/landscape company. I mean I’ve got 63 acres. You think I’m going to mow the 12 acres that aren’t wooded? Not a chance. Sunday I decided to go to the local nursery and buy a truck load of flowers to plant in front of the gates, along the drive, and in the beds in front of the house. The delivery guy and I unloaded the flats of flowers and placed them next to the spots where I intended to plant them Monday.

But Mother Nature is a bi-yotch.

3:30am Monday I was awakened by a huge storm. Jagged lightning. Earsplitting thunder. Gusting winds. Rain blowing horizontal. All followed by golf ball sized hail. I was sure that windows were going to break. It was quite a show. When the hail stopped it was about 2 inches thick as far as you could see.

When I got up yesterday morning I went outside with my coffee to survey the damage. And fellas, I was horrified. There were… Dead… Pansies… Everywhere. Massacred. The inhumanity! I called the lawn service company to come out, pick up the poor broken bodies, and haul them off. I was too heartbroken.

I don't want sympathy. I want Ann to come over, slap me around, and tell me what to do next. But if she’s busy that’s OK. She can just send Alistair… mmm… Alistair.