Typhoon passed with little more than lots of rain, and as the clouds started to clear, I pulled on my long gum boots, long sleeves and pants, and wrapped my head in a towel. Time to pull weeds.
The front "yard" (is there a minimal size for a yard? If so, this is smaller) has been overrun by greenery I don't want, concealing the cool beauty of the moss I have encouraged to grow over the clay-like dirt.
So I pulled me some weeds. And the bugs didn't like it. Or, more accurately, they loved it. Specifically, they loved the one piece of exposed, non-covered skin: my face.
By the time I retreated to the safety of the shower, I had enough bug bites on my face to make me look like a battered husband. This was enough to get some decent husband pity from P, who rewarded my valiant efforts with a huge showing of sesame-dressing pork for dinner.
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