I HATE Trees.

Usually trees don't bother me. Usually a tree is just a pretty thing that keeps the sun from burning me and minds it's own business.

But today I spent three hours dragging various branches from where my father happened to cut down two huge trees to our driveway, where he had parked the woodchipper. It was, without question, the dumbest thing I have ever done. The tree, for some ungodly reason, was covered in half-inch spikes that resembled large rose thorns. Really. I didn't know trees could have spikes, and I sure don't know why my dad thought he should have me drag them around. (that's the best picture I could find online that resembled the trees I was pulling about. The spikes were much bigger on the bigger branches, but that's about right for that size of a twig. They aren't fun.)

It was a mess of tiny little leaves, woodchips, and blood. I'm a clutz naturally, and I recently hurt my right foot so that I can't wear anything other then flip-flops for a week or so, which meant that these stupid spiky branches made just a mess out of my feet. They look like I spent my day kicking about an angry cat. It was tiring, horrible, sweaty, hot, painful work that made me decide I'm just never going to have plants. Ever. I hate gardening anyway, so it's not like that would be a loss...eh.