Last weekend I decided to convert my body into a senior citizen. I did this the best way I know how: eleventy hundred hours of yard work.

Y'all. There are muscles that yard work requires of the human body that literally no other task also requires. The closest any physical activity has ever come to forcing the same kind of exertion out of the body as yard work does is probably Crossfit. But since all of those people are going to be in a coma by 40, it's really kind of a waste anyway.

I don't understand it. Look. I'm not an 18-year-old gymnast. I know that. I didn't even spell "gymnast" correctly on the first try. (I should have just left my initial spelling so you guys could all be like YOU GRAMMARED WRONG YOU IDIOT which is sort of my favorite thing about you. Well, that, and when Awesomesauciness yells at us for not being old. WRITE THE BOOK ALREADY. 1,200 pages of stream-of-conscious writing without punctuation is all I ask.)

The point is, I don't think that I'm the most physically-fit human being to ever live. But I'm not in bad shape either. I mean, I am an Ironman [flexes both biceps, kiss two fingers, and then holds a peace sign up to God].

I know. I hate myself for saying it, too. But to be fair, that's the first time I've ever pulled the Ironman card on you. And I had to exercise for a long time and use many porta potties so I'm kind of entitled the title.

But even though I'm technically an IRONMAN [puts on sunglasses; refuses to acknowledge people who aren't rich and famous] the second I finish doing yard work my body starts responding to the words "arthritis" and "adult diapers" and "bingo."

I knew this was going to happen. I'm not naive anymore. I knew I was going to need help.

I normally use Matt for situations like this but he needs more help with his yard this year than I do and I don't want him to think we have a free exchange of services right now so I've blocked his number from my phone and right now he thinks I broke my femur in a very violent bar fight because I've been walking around on crutches whenever he visits my house and I will stay committed to this until October if I have to.

So instead of calling Matt, I invited my sister Krishelle to come help. And by "invited" I mean "texted the words 'OMG party at my hows so fun lol come over ttyl!'"

She came, partly because she thought I was having a stroke. But also because she's very competitive about maintaining the sister-of-the-year award.

[Editor's Note: none of us try for "family member of the year" anymore because Cathie somehow made the award a life appointment the last time she got it and we all fell for it even though the award's name has the word "year" in it]

Krishelle knew I needed help in the yard. So she came, dressed for the occasion. And I know that doesn't sound like a very big deal to you. But you need to believe me when I say that Krishelle coming dressed to do yard work should have monopolized cable news last weekend.

My uncle Will and I have both had the same experience with Krishelle over the years where we invite her to help us do yard work and then she shows up dressed ready for the XC Academy Awards.

Will called her out on this many years ago and Krishelle responded, "I don't have a yard. I live in a condo. These are condo clothes."

"Condo clothes" has since become code in my family for "ill-dressed for the occasion."

You might say that I go to work in "condo clothes" every single day of my professional life.

The point is, Krishelle showed up not in condo clothes, which was incredibly impressive, and then she spent like ten straight hours performing manual labor that was so rigorous that it's actually illegal in 62 states.

But by the end of it all, we got this done:

And I know you didn't see what it looked like before and shame on me for not taking any before photos but just trust me when I say this place was a MESS.

The next day my neighbor Lynn stopped by and saw it and she told me that she was actually speechless, which is a big deal coming from Lynn considering that her yard looks like the Garden of Eden and she never stops talking and she steals people's cats and takes them to weddings.

After ten hours of yard work, Krishelle and I went to dinner. When the check came, she reached for it. I pulled it away and said, "no. I got this." She thanked me. I responded, "no need to thank me. And now we are completely even."

She shook her head at me and did not smile.

Now, please enjoy this week's Strangerville Short.

~It Just Gets Stranger