Jason tilled our plot, and I was ready to go , map in hand. I had the onions near the broccoli, the gourds in back near the eggplant, and the corn, of course, in a square section as opposed to rows so they would pollenate better. "Admirable," my Gardening Spock whispered softly when he saw my plan.
It was a long day of staking tomato plants, parceling out radish seeds, and forming mounds for the cucumbers. I accidentally stepped on one of the zucchini plants, breaking its stalk. "Leave it," Spock pronounced in my mind. "A stallion must first be broken before it can reach its potential." Sounded good to me. I mentally high-fived Spock and continued digging holes.
I was sweating, slightly sunburned, and definately dehydrated when I squatted down in the dirt to plant the potatoes. It was the last thing on my list, and I was feeling giddy. Out of nowhere, a mosquito the size of a Boeing landed on my back. I whipped around, trying desperately to remove it from my skin before it sucked me dry of blood. That's when I felt my knee—my bad knee—twist sideways. Uh-oh.
"The hell that's not good," Spock said. Truer words were never spoken.
I limped back in to the house, a little worried that my kneecap was now on the side of my leg. "That's not logical," Spock admitted in a monotone, and I thought, "No kidding, genius!" He suggested I try to push my kneecap back where it belonged. "Are you out of your Vulcan mind?" I shouted. My gardening Spock went silent. Clearly, I had offended the half-human part of him.
I know Spock isn't happy with me, what with the weeds coming in with the corn and me being unable to kneel to pull them up. But in this case, Spock isn't the Star Trek character for the job.
My appointment with Bones to fix my knee is Tuesday. Sometimes, you just have to be logical.