Sometimes I wish I had a garden paladin. I mean, I have James, and he’s pretty good for things like digging holes and mowing the lawn, but…well…somebody dedicated and brawny and not very bright, to make a valiant stand against the weeds. Then I could sip mint juleps on the veranda and read seed catalogs. Who wouldn’t love that?

Some women dream of cabana boys. I dream of paladins with broadswords +2 vs. weeds.

Of course, once I go down that road, I start seeing the whole garden in D&D terms. Clerics blessing the mulch and curing leaf blight. The berserker dwarf chopping down the trees and digging the holes. (Okay, I’ve got one of those already.) The rogue, master of poisons and pesticides, who you’d really rather not employ, but sometimes… And really, that goddamn English ivy just needs a few well-placed fireballs rolling through.

It’s a big job, a hard job, a job requiring strength and cunning, against formidable and persistent foes. Smite ten, and fifty grow in its place. You spend a lot more money on equipment than you’ll ever get back, and you frequently find yourself saying “Plan? I thought you had the plan! What was the plan, anyway?” It is, in short, a job made for a party of adventurers.

A garden party, if you will.

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