I have to admit that I kind of enjoy doing the weeding, here in Seattle. For one thing the weather is usually lovely, and for another both the front and back yard are the size of postage stamps, land prices in Seattle being what they are. I can do the weeding in thirty minutes after dinner, in the evening cool, wearing my new gardening gloves, which are neon purple and stretchy and actually fit my teeny-tiny girly hands. I love my gloves. They are about as hot-ass and fashion-forward as industrial clothing gets.

Of course, the very same factors that make weeding so oddly enjoyable can backfire (except the gloves. The gloves cannot backfire. It are a FACT). If the weather is lovely and the lot is tiny, that means that when our neighbors are out in their backyard having a gossip session at two AM, I can clearly hear and understand every word; the temptation to lean out and yell "I CAN TOTALLY HEAR YOU, AND BY THE WAY, I AGREE WITH JANINE THAT YOU OUGHT TO HAVE THAT MOLE LOOKED AT" is enormous.