So the boy behind the rectory has just acquired a miniature motorcycle. This is the same child who leaves his sleds in my backyard all winter. And this is Mauna Marie's owner.
You know what this things sound like, of course. A softer version of a chainsaw or grass trimmer/weed wacker (because that is all they are). So any thoughts of quiet gardening this spring are shattered because he can only ride the thing in his driveway which is just above the garden.
Sigh.
Why do toys these days have to have internal combustion engines? (I already rue the emergence of all the motorcycles with the deafening pipes.)
As my roomie in grad school used to say, Oh joy, oh rapture.
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