Months ago, I bought our family Mission: Impossible tickets while we were
all around the table for dinner. The Nielsons are a little obsessed with this franchise.
Need I repeat that Christian and I had our first date at the
Mission: Impossible 2 movie at the theater in South Provo in 2000?
One of the best nights of my life.
Anyway, tonight was the long-awaited night.
Behold, a few photos of us and MI through the years:
And then the worst thing happened.
When we got home, it was late and dark, but as the car lights pulled up to
the driveway, I noticed the goat gate was open.
Then I noticed the goats were mingling in my garden.
MINGLING IN MY GARDEN.
I couldn't get out of the car fast enough.
Upon the gruesome discovery, they had eaten most of the flower sprouts that
were coming up, and I had explicitly planted for Claire's wedding.
I knelt down like an overdramatic actress and cried.
I was really so sad.
The sunflower tops had been eaten, amaranth chewed to smithereens,
And my zinnias and dahlias had been stomped on.
The hydrangea tops were gobbled up with piles of disgusting goat poop
all over the front yard.
Oliver helped me up while Christian was yelling at Gigs
"come tomorrow morning, the goats are gone."
My dreams of Claire's wedding dinner with the vibrant garden as a beautiful
backdrop to the intimate event with family and friends
was dashed and now visions of a brown, empty, ugly garden.
The homemade wedding bouquet I planned to create for her
bridal photos was ruined.
I cried myself to sleep.
Goat really do go to hell.
