I work out in the pseudo-country on Mondays/Tuesdays
I usually drag along the least resistant mini-Infidel to
work slave labor for slave wages enjoy the fresh country air and scenic beauty.
I refer to it as the pseudo-country because while many of the farmhouse-styled homes have lots of acreage with big red barns and painted ponies dotting their sprawling fields, they still live in a deed restriction-controlled neighborhood surrounded by modern conveniences.
It's not country living if you can walk to the grocery store for a gallon of milk instead of being forced to massage Ol' Bessie to give up her last lactating drop.
So, the pseudo-country--they're city enough to have their very own Chik-Fil-A drive-thru but too rural to enjoy the privilege of the city sewer system.
I feel bad for pseudo-country kids. They don't even have a conveniently located curbside hole to toss their bleeding-with-red-ink schoolwork failures into like us city folk.
So, in case you haven't had the odorific pleasures of touring an area that's relying on septic tanks during a muggy day or in the aftermath of torrential rains, let me just sum up the experience for you: It stinks. It stinks real bad.
We had a high of 80 degrees on Tuesday. Crazy, I know. Why don't you and Mr. Global Warming go to the Conspiracy Corner to discuss it at length?
Anyway, it was pretty stenchy.
And then my brilliant second-oldest mini-Infidel burst forth with the most ingenious piece of stank combativeness: Utilize the city mosquito control trucks to spray heavy doses of Febreze air sanitizing mist into the feces-fragranced countryside.
Yeah, she superseded my own brilliant stench-fighting plan.
I guess she's right. It really would be impractical to try to plug in a million and a half vanilla-scented Renuzit Plug-In room deodorizers down at the Power Plant.