What's Love Got To Do With It?

Everything!
Love sneaked up on me from behind, wriggled her ugly bottom, stretched her sharp claws, bit her blood-red lower lip and pounced.
And here we are. Twenty years on. One house in a not-so-nice suburb, one neglected park-cum-rubbish heap with a large fish pond out back, one rather small (we're in The Netherlands, dear)garden.
"We" is: middle-aged Male, middle-aged Woman (me), 17 yrd. old son, 13 yr. old daughter (both absolutely stunning, what can I say?), rescued Istanbul rubbish dump dog Gina and dumped mangy rabbit Honey.
A family of misfits, when you think about it.
We used to have approximately twenty doves as well, but I've finally put my foot down, and we've caught them and deported them to the local bird wrangler, as they shat all over my windows. (And all over our neighbour's windows, which was much worse!)

But then there's our garden. And a very lovely garden it is. To my one green finger, my husband has eight. But he's a very practical gardener, where I am the creative mind and bring the enthousiasm into the equasion.
My idea of a perfect gardening day is this: start early, breakfast time, wonder into the garden with a cup of tea, admire the plants. Watch the birdlife. Drink tea. Do some weeding (usually about ten minutes does it). Then take out the easy chair, pick up the newspaper, make another cup of tea. Around lunch time, eat your lunch. Around dinner time, bring out the bottle of wine. Sit until dark. Bliss.

Funnily enough Man has a totally different idea. Today for instance, he waved me into the garden, gave me the seccateurs and told me to prune the climbing hydrangea.
So I wobbled on a ladder, fearing for my life, cut back all old growth, did a bloody good job even if I say so, only to see him cut it back even more later on...

So what's love got to do with it? You tell me!