Ghetto Fabulous vs. Ghetto Scupulous

The other evening as Michael and I sat cutting up an old, grey T-shirt and sewing the pieces onto our badly fractured lawnmower bag, we had a rather fun little discussion.

First off, we agreed that what we were doing was totally "ghetto" (but worth a shot!) and we sat laughing about it and sewing shoulder-to-shoulder on the front step as the day gradually drew into the dusk. Is it strange that it was such a good time together? 'Cus it really, really was.

Nevertheless, upon completion of our little bonding task, we were pleasantly surprised at how good it ended up looking! We were "The Man", and the lawnmower bag was immediately upgraded to "ghetto fabulous" without a second's hesitation. "Oh fair lawnmower bag with dark gray discarded T-shirt bits, how do we love thee? Let us count the ways!" Ha ha ha! It was great.

On further inspection, and stepping back a few feet to do so, I began to realize that you really couldn't even tell what we had done. I was stoked! The neighbors would remain blissfully ignorant of our crazy antics as we paraded to and fro in plain sight across our lawn. Sweet!

It was then I decided what we had done was none other than "Ghetto Scrupulous"; you had to know it to see it (you knew that was coming though, didn't you?). Yes, I had garnered a new word phrase in honor of our little lawnmower bag. It more than earned it with it's encore performance in the actual role of a literal, working bag several minutes later anyway. (Kudos, dude, kudos.)

The newly mown lawn looked great, monies were saved and we had an unnaturally good time sitting, sewing and chewin' the fat on our own front porch. It was what one observer might call a ghetto scupulously good time.

THE END.