I love that I have a nice big yard in which to putter and prune.
I love discovering all of the things previously planted, blown in by the wind, or sown via bird ass.
I love walking barefoot outside (except when I think of ringworm).
But I utterly despise, loathe, fear, hate, wildly shake my fist at Poison Ivy.
It is everywhere.
Believe me, I looked when we first inspected the house – not a hairy perverse vine in sight – but it was winter. Now it isn’t, and I’ve found it’s as populous as Dandelions – delicate little tendrils that snap when pulled and sink back to maniacally multiply.
I am exceedingly dermatologically allergic to that leaves of three bastard.
Despite the thorough and methodical precautions I took for my first attempt to remove it, it still got me…
And there is so so so much more…
And I just might have to loose a lovely Azalea that it’s gotten way too cozy with and started naming their evil offspring…
Death to Poison Ivy!!!
ASTITCHMATISM 