I have a wonderful gardener who mows and slays Virginia Creeper for me. Yesterday he and his son showed up to tackle what DH left last weekend, a job that entailed using chainsaws, weed whackers, and machetes. (HOA sent a note saying our vegetation was over the fence and maybe out of hand.)
Francisco and I were discussing the Man Eating rose vine he’d transplanted in a less lethal location. I looked down at the well-used, enormous, curved machete in his hand, and automatically my brain went into murder weapon potential. I can’t turn the scheming writer off.
My cleaning ladies found a full-size axe under our couch one day. I heard muffled shrieking, followed by laughter. Never did explain to them why it was there, but they did come back.