Dandelions

I used to abhor dandelions. Not when I was a kid, mind you, when I thought they were pretty and bright...a beautiful sunny yellow. Only as an adult, when I have to dig them out of my flower beds (there's no use snapping them off ground-level; they are like worms where you can chop 'em in half and they just grow back. Sometimes overnight. Bastards) and when I watch M battle them all summer long. Our neighbors (the pot-heads, in case you're wondering) seem to adore them, as their yard is already quite full of them and they are making absolutely no attempt at eradication. Probably too busy smoking pot. Or dandelions.

Because the neighbors (shall we call them "The Potters?") don't mind dandelions, their dandelions creep over into our yard, sneaking in at night by tiptoeing across the property line and setting up squatters camps and blatently blowing their seeds around during the day. I think if M thought he could get away with spraying weedkiller on someone else's yard, he'd do it. At this point, I'm sure he'd be happy to spray something flammable over there and let them torch their own yard when they toke up.

Last weekend we left to run errands, and I looked over to see the patch of grass between the sidewalk and the street of my neighbor's yard already full of dandelions. Not a few here and there. Hundreds. Already. Without looking at M I could tell he was fired up and silently cursing both the dandelions and the neighbors who allow them to flourish. He's getting really good at cursing silently now, ever since he expressed his opinion about another driver and from the backseat we heard a little girl's voice say, "Speed up or get over!"

So I thought, "Great. Another season of battling dandelions."

Then, yesterday, when I got home from work, my little girl ran to meet me with flowers she picked just for me. Two little purple ones, and a big, bright, sunny yellow one. You guessed it. A dandelion.
Come to think of it, maybe they're not so bad after all.