Rick Nelson and Claude Peck dispense unasked-for advice about clothing, etiquette, culture, relationships, grooming and more.
CP: A rainy weekend is a weekend when I don’t have to enter the outdoorsy part of my estate.
RN: I hear you. I’m saying this at risk of having my Gay Card revoked, but for me, gardening ranks right up there with watching pro sports as an Activity I’d Rather Avoid.
CP: I don’t even enjoy having someone else do it for me. My friend Al used to work in my yard, and I would putter about inside the whole time, feeling bad for him as he pulled weeds and pruned for hours, seemingly happy as Liberace in a bubble bath.
RN: Drop the guilt trip and enjoy. I love looking at verdant urban landscapes, and am only too happy to support my partner’s glorious efforts in our yards, front and back. Just don’t make me weed, because I don’t know phlox from creeping Charlie.
CP: This is the worst time of year for people like us. We are expected to “get the annuals in” and “pot things up” and other such odious chores. Let a couple of weekends slip by, I say, and you may reassure yourself that now it’s too late, so why bother?
RN: Two words: Property values.
CP: Two more: Dirt-caked cuticles. Or is that three?
RN: Watering I can handle. Just so long as I don’t forget that the sprinkler is on and I end up washing away half of Mac-Groveland. I can even get with the mower and not hate it, so long as I don’t have to deal with catching the clippings in a bag.