What I Could Do With A Pruning Saw

I was taking the rest of the boxwoods out today when a grandma in the neighborhood came over looking for her too-young-and-creepy-to-be-playing-with-my-kids grandsons.  I'm sitting in the dirt barefoot with a pruning saw working on shrubbery like I'm rowing in a crew race and this woman walks into the yard chatting me up with her weird-as-all-hell granddaughter at her side. 

Grandma: Are the boys here?
Me: No
Grandma: Are they inside?
Me: No
Grandma: Have you seen them?
Me: No
Grandma: Do you know where they could be?
Me: No
Grandma: (DOESN'T STOP TALKING!)

Not going to repeat everything she droned on about because honestly I can't remember.  I put her on mute in my head.  However, at one point she appeared to notice that I was in the middle of a very intense and laborious project and she said, "That is some hard work you're doing."  I thought, Are you still talking?  What does that even mean?  That is some hard work.  Like, it's so hard I shouldn't be doing it?  Is that what you mean?  And the weird-as-hell granddaughter asked, "Why don't she got no shoes on?  Where you shoes at?"

[closes eyes, breathes deeply, makes polite yet nauseating babytalk at the weird-as-hell granddaughter]

All I wanted was for them to leave.  I know it's hard work.  It's Dirt Therapy.  I am sawing down an enormous amount of shrubbery because it is a beautiful day outside and I am trying not to kill people.  Perhaps you don't realize how dangerous it is for you to be so near to me while I am holding something sharp.  And how interesting that these branches are about the same width as a human bone.  You should go now...

Grandma may have sensed the look on my face that it was time for them to leave immediately or else risk imaginary death.

"Bella, she's Grown Up.  She don't have to wear shoes if she don't wanna, baby.  Someday you can take your shoes off too." 

I didn't throw up when I heard that.  I swear.