Catherine sighed in satisfaction. Baby Andrew was in his playpen beside her chair on the patio, happily exploring his toes. Lindsey had returned home an hour ago from a daylong shopping mall excursion with her best friend and family. She was in her room listening to a new CD. Grissom, the Great Weed Conqueror, was laying waste to the resident weed population; their ancient weedeater whirred in his grasp.

His dedication to weed annihilation was a great source of amusement to her. He obstinately refused to purchase a new weedeater; his excuse, he already knew how to repair this one. (In his opinion, weedeaters were generally unreliable, despicable tools.) Neither, would he, in his terms, "spray ubiquitous chemical deterrents" about the lawn because "the children play on that same grass." So, weekly, he donned a frayed ball cap, a pair of old hiking boots, worn leather work gloves; hefted the weedeater from it's cradle on the garage wall and commenced an all-out assault to rid their lawn of unsightly weeds.

He had on his favorite old canvas hiking shorts, sans shirt. She could see his bright blue boxers peaking out of the rip on his left hip. "They're going in the trash, for good, this time." She vowed. "So are those socks!" The socks; old, white, athletic ones with green strips encircling the tops, were ones they all had for their softball uniforms. His were a little worse for wear, though. The elastic had given out in the right one, so it hung down over his hiking boot. "Too bad he didn't put that one on the left foot." She thought. It would have covered up the multiple knots where he'd tied the shoestring back together after it broke. He'd had to forgo a couple of eyelets in order to have enough length to tie the lace together at the top. "I gotta remember to get him so new laces for those boots."

"Uh, oh." She thought as she observed the weedeater choke. Grissom quickly investigated the problem, stuck string. He fumbled with it for a bit, grew frustrated, then strode off to the garage in search of tools.

"Hey, Catherine." Sara's voice startled her from her reverie.

"Sara. Hi. I didn't hear the doorbell." Catherine replied.

"Lindsey let me in." Sara explained. "I stopped by to borrow your carpet cleaner."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot. Are you in a hurry?" Catherine responded.

"Nah." Sara replied taking a seat nearby.

"Good. Gil is in full weed decimation mode and the weedeater just broke again. It's best not to bother him to carry the carpet cleaner out to your car, right now. Although, I could get Linds to watch Andrew and we could do it, together." Catherine informed.

"Uh, I'm cool. We can wait." Sara answered. She was watching Andrew wondering what it was like to have one so small, dependent on you for everything.

Grissom strode back toward the weedeater, tools in hand with a determined set to his features. He plopped down in front of it and doggedly set to work. They watched him for a few minutes.

"Maybe we should help." Sara suggested.

"Bad idea. He's already annoyed, that would just piss him off." Catherine replied.

"That's exactly why you two would have never made it." Catherine thought. "You don't understand what makes him tick." There was a time when she used to encourage Gil to find someone, before they ended up together. She wanted him to be happy. However, she had never encouraged him with Sara; they were too much alike, mostly in their disagreeable traits.

Grissom tugged his gloves off and tossed them aside. "Ah, the Gauntlet of Grissom has been dropped, Mr. Weedeater, you'd best cooperate." Catherine mused.

"You sure we shouldn't help?" Sara inquired.

"Yep. He'll get it in a minute. He'll probably scrape a knuckle, follow it with a few expletives, but he'll get it working." Catherine answered. Sure enough, a few minutes later, Grissom placed his tools in a tidy pile, pulled his gloves on, stood up and resumed his battle with the weeds.

Andrew half-heartedly cried so Catherine scooped him up, asking. "Did you get bored with your toes?" She covered him in kisses; his giggles were such a delight. After a time, she noticed Sara staring at Gil. It didn't bother her; it was nice to know your man was attractive to other women, especially when he looked slightly ridiculous.

"Hey!" He greeted, approaching them, weedeater and tools in hand. He drained the last of the lemonade from her glass and crunched an ice cube. Catherine observed Sara mesmerized by a trickle of sweat running down his chest to pause at a blade of grass stuck to his stomach.

"Sara came by to borrow the carpet cleaner. Would you put it the trunk of her car?" Catherine asked.

"Certainly. Let me put this stuff away." He answered, then asked Sara. "Keys?" She handed her keys over to him. He loaded up the carpet cleaner and they saw Sara off.

"You need a shower, Weed King." Catherine stated.