The beast of Bougain-ville
This monstrous Bougainvillaea stands in the place where progress needs to happen. I’m pretty sure I planted this not five years ago… its mushroomed into this ‘little-shop-of-horrors’ behemoth of a shrubbery. I’ve been putting off cutting it down… because… well… the thorns mostly. But also because I’m lazy (maybe I should use the polite form, and say I’ve been procrastinating). In any event, the time has come! Or rather came, since its pretty much done now.
I must be honest, most of the hard work was done by my gardener. My Zimbabwean-of-questionable-resident-status, who scaled the innards and attacked the beast from within. Every time I hooked and bloodied myself I’d moan and grouse about it to anyone within earshot. Not so my stoic botanical man-at-arms who seemed, if anything, quite enthusiastic about the whole endeavour.
The sap from a Bougainvillea’s leaves are not toxic, but a prick from the plant’s sharp thorns can lead to dermatitis, a skin rash typically caused by an allergic reaction.
Yeah, trust me I know all about it. My forearms looks like I’ve shared a sleeping bag with a feral alley cat.
I also, obviously, took the opportunity to enact some parenting and taught my girls some important life skills. Some might argue that 16 months is too young to wield a chainsaw. But I disagree. Raising your kids right has been ruined by hippy liberals and I aim to rectify this divergence (with blood). Afterwards I made them grapple for an hour and twenty minutes on the cold damp lawn.
I suppose I should mention this is where my new home office is going to go and that I am not just disrupting the foliage of my domicile willy-nilly. I need a new and improved man cave, separated from the violent (and unruly) pygmies from which to wage… eh… financial… stuff from. And also play games (and build my lego). I tire of the scowls from my wife and the constant admonishment (when she brings me my tea), ‘Are you playing games again?’
(sometimes I can’t alt-tab quickly enough)
All men need a sanctum. From within its confines, they can reflect on the life decisions they have made that have brought them to the point of needing a sanctum. Its quite circular that way.
In any event, I could have summarized this side-quest with ‘Cut down a Bougainvillaea, it pricked me and it hurt’. But I felt this particular encounter needed more ‘meat’.
Also I don’t really make my kids wrestle for an hour and twenty. It’s more like forty minutes, tops.