What NOT to say…

I may hate this bush even more than I loathe Mega Coon. It was, like everything in our gardens, very neglected when we moved in. It was growing way out over the driveway, which meant there was a danger of it scratching The Mr’s Jeep that he thinks is a Bentley. So it, along with everything else on the property, go a pretty major pruning from the landacaper last year.
Only problem is that it was so unloved that pruning it made it look like ass. 

Also, it revealed tons of dead needles that had been concealed by the overgrown monstrosity.

It looks awful, and it is RIGHT IN FRONT of the house…. screaming ” HELLO, THE FAMILY INSIDE IS PROLY AS MESSED UP AS THEIR SHRUB!!!” (OK, maybe people don’t think that way, but I do, and I matter in this story.)

Removal is the ultimate plan.
But I uber-cringe every time I see it, so I decided to at least dig out the fire hazard from hell dead needles to see if it would improve the visual a bit.

2 big shopping bags crammed full of dead crap later, I was just finishing up when the year-out-of-high-school neighbor kid and his buddy returned from another Taco Bell run.
They waved, I pushed up my nerdy-as-hell super-awesome sunglasses that stack on top of my regular glasses and waved back.

“What are you doing?” inquired neighbor boy.

“Cleaning my bush!” I exclaimed.

And blushed burning red.

:::crickets chirping::::

Cue the Bevis and Butthead laughs.

That is way up there on the “what NOT to say to the teenager next door” list.  Anything having to do with bush, really. 

Gah. 
And I’m worried about what our SHRUBS say about me?