So... we had some tree work done, removed 3 dead magnolias and trimmed up 5 full-size old fir trees. The front yard had the dead magnolias, poor things had to be 20 years old too - only one survived - and the firs were in the back, they're probably 60' tall or something, they're HUGE and older than the house. Yard looks much healthier now and I think the trees all went "ahhhh thannnnk youuuu" in relief, no more dead weight from the winter storms left now and we have a buncha firewood we can burn for heat next winter. It's too bad those trees died, but such is life in the Pacific Northwest - big storms happen and sometimes they just don't make it.
But then we had 2 holes left in the front yard from 2 of the magnolias - had to grind the stumps to get rid of them but in the end it's best way, it just leaves holes and we didn't have any fill dirt or topsoil to put in place yet. We had azalea shrubs to go in the holes but still... we had big holes.
So I asked dear hubby to stop by the dirt place on the way to work and get a price on enough dirt to fill the two holes. It's okay if we have extra but I don't wanna be saddled with a LOT of extra dirt and frankly no place to put it, knowwhatImeanVern?
I was barely awake when he called...
Him: "So they have dirt (like I didn't know that, ha!) and it's $25 per yard."
Me, yawning: "How much is a yard?"
He repeated the price, like I hadn't heard him the first time.
Me, growling: "No really, how much is a yard?"
He repeated it slower, damn him.
Me, sighing loudly: "Not in price, silly... how BIG is a yard? What're the dimensions?"
Him, finally catching the drift: "Oh... lemme check."
He never checks first before calling me. I woulda but he doesnae. I hear mumbling in the background and he comes back.
Him, sounding superbly enlightened: "It's 25 cubic feet."
Okay now we're talking math and I haven't even had any tea, coffee, sugar... or breakfast.
Me, immediately dismissing the idea of 25 cubic feet: "That's too much."
Him, put out: "She said it's just what we need, you gave me the dimensions of the holes."
Me, stammering: "But... but... but we need 3' x 4' x 1' twice... that's..."
I quickly mentally multiplied 3x4 and got 12 and doubled it to find it was 24 cubic feet.
DAMMIT he was right!!! Oh no, this can't be good. Admitting hubby's right would be akin offering him carte blanche to gloat for the next month.
Me, meekly: "You're right."
Him, smugly: "Well okay then." I knew he was plotting ways to get even now.
Me, more awake than ever now that my foot was wedged in my mouth: "Don't gloat, it's ugly, and you're only right once a blue moon."
Him, laughing: "Must be a blue moon then."
Me, grimacing at the thought of what he's gonna be like when he gets home from work tonight: "Told ya gloating's ugly."
So we'll get a yard of dirt for our yard, the azaleas will be happy, I'll be happy we don't have dead trees in the front yard, and the neighbors will be happy that our front yard's not an eyesore anymore, and hubby will be happy cuz he gets to gloat on how he whipped my math hiney for once and was right (even though he didn't do the math himself AND he caught me unawares - I think I should get points for that and declare April the "Gloat-Free Month").
Yay, we're all happy. Now where's my caffeine...
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