Pulling weeds is a lot like seeking absolution from vice. Or so it seemed to me after three hours of pulling, picking, tearing, shredding and dumping on Saturday.
You have the little fuzzy baby weeds you can nip in the bud without effort. They are the chips you never buy because you know you’ll eat the whole bag, the bad T.V. shows you fall in and out of love with after two seasons, and those situational friends you lose once you change the scenery.
Some weeds require more effort. You tug a bit harder and loosen the soil around them before they come up and out with a satisfying whoosh that sounds remarkably like the click of the phone when you told that one guy goodbye for the last time (and meant it).
Then there are the weeds with established roots. They have stalks as thick as spines and stand so tall and straight and proud that you wonder how you never noticed them before. You’re sneaky ones, Internet and Dairy Queen Chocolate and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup Blizzards. If you had teeth, I do believe you’d bite me.