Muddy, Mucky Mess

Did I ever tell you about how super glamorous this whole farm wife gig I've got going is?

I did my first two hours of hard labor the other day. I'm sure the guys around here will argue that there was nothing hard about it. But they can shut their mouths.

I strapped on my best manly-looking pair of insulated overalls and headed out to the field.

Sexy, I know.

I may have stretched it a bit when I said two hours. It may have been closer to an hour forty-five. I had other pressing obligations, like a lunch date with a girlfriend.

And don't ask me how it happened, but at the end of that oh-so-strenuous hour and forty-five minutes everyone else looked clean. As a matter of fact, at the end of the entire day, everyone else looked fairly clean.

I, on the other hand, somehow ended up with 25 pounds of mud clinging to my clothes, finger nails and eyelashes.

And my wedding bands.

Supposedly there are diamonds in there somewhere.

I have never taken my bands off, and I certainly wasn't going to break tradition because of some pesky mud.

And it's funny how things work, but when I headed up to the farm shop to scrape off the layers of mud, I noticed that somehow my husband had slipped up there undetected while the rest of us were slaving away in his field. He was in his nice warm office "sending e-mails" and doing "important things."

Uh-huh.

I didn't know YouTube was a vital ingredient to this farm's success.

Okay, I'm totally kidding and I don't want my husband to kill me.

He could have been on Facebook, I don't know.