Water, water, everywhere. And not a drop to drink. Actually, that's misleading. We are quite well hydrated here at the Mansion. Get it? We have a well, you see. And it never runs dry.
What I should have said is: Grass, grass, everywhere. And not a blade's been mowed. Farmer H is so busy gallivanting around the county, mowing my grandma's grass and wiring his buddy's rental house, that he has neglected our front yard. A yard which is measured in acres. He trimmed the area adjoining the Mansion last week, but the front is way tall. I can hardly see the horses across the road. Except when one of them breaks out to graze on our plush landscape.
It's a good thing we don't have Direct TV, like that Russian-accented dude on the commercial, who smooches his mini giraffe on the sofa pillow after it plays hard-to-get. Because if we had a mini giraffe, we would lose him in the front yard. That's how high the grass is. The Pony declares that we could lose a full-size giraffe. I think he exaggerates a bit.
I don't know where he gets it.