As promised, I finished my coffee and headed out to the yard, while the husband's in the garage performing some organ transplants on the lawnmower. Here's what I turned up in those shin-high weeds (with a few tufts of grass mixed in):
Drink lids, creamsicle wrappers (mmmm....), Snickers, styrofoam, cellophane, you get the idea. A few standouts:
If you're like me, you have so many galvanized carriage bolt packages lying around the interior of your car (or in your truck bed) that you really just can't help when they start flying out the window.
Only the finest cigars/cigarillos will do in my neighborhood. Who DOESN'T like to smoke things that come in fruit-candy flavors like white grape? Get a feel for the brand's clientele at this Facebook page. "Hell yeah your [sic] the bomb," and indeed, "them r tha shizzzzz."
This reminds me of why I dislike the modifier "award-winning." Here we have the winner of Pastry of the Year--5 years in a row. The Big Texas Cinnamon Roll from Cloverhill. I'm assuming that's Gas Station Pastry of the Year? I can't read the full label. Or who knows--maybe this did beat out all the namby-pamby macarons and the so-five-years-ago fancy cupcakes. Oh wait, I just looked it up: It's the Pastry of the Year as designated by Automatic Merchandiser. So it's the best pastry in your local vending machine. A true honor. I will definitely try one next time, IF I have more than 55 cents (I'm expecting this is on the upper end of the vending machine price point).
I'll just need to remind myself NOT to look at the ingredients list before I eat it.
And now, for the littering cusshole who keeps busting beer bottles in the same spot on the sidewalk along the edge of our yard: You've downgraded, I see, from last week's Corona to this week's Bud. I do hope, regardless, that it's you--returning from your no shirt, no shoes stroll to the Mystic Mart one warm spring day in the near future--and not one of the kids who use that sidewalk to get to their school down the road, who gets a big shard of this accident-waiting-to-happen embedded in your foot. There's no way I'm ever going to be able to get it all picked up and extracted from the grass.