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| Going Potty |
Oh dear. Am not adapting well to strata life. A young lad who looked like he would be more comfortable behind a car wrench was standing on my transplanted Columbines cutting the flowers off my hedge. He had just lobbed a Christmas Rose into his discard bin.
Am so not used to this. You will be happy to know I educated him on what the so-called weed was and that I was one of the people here who did their own gardening.
"No one told me," he said.
I am trying not to feel mortified. Some people like this type of thing, I suppose. But I am not adapting well. I thought the property was my own but I am being told it is not, that it is "common". It is enough to make a gardener go potty.