A tree grows in Culver City

I hate this tree.

It's ugly.

It grows like a weed.

It dumps tiny yellows flowers all over my patio.

And it causes me more grief than a tree should be able to cause.

Moreover, I hate myself for bringing this particular tree into my life. That's right, this tree didn't sprout up from some airborne seed, I paid good money to have three Mexican guys dig a hole, plant a sapling and run irrigation lines to nurture and grow this beast.

Perhaps I should explain. Years ago, my wife and I did a complete remodel on the house. We hired a semi-famous architect, brought in a top notch contractor and literally ripped open the house to accommodate a full second story. It was a grueling, tortuous, expensive experience, but when it was over we had doubled the square footage and had ample room for two young daughters.

No sooner had I finished writing the last check for the designer doorbell, did my wife hit me with another bombshell: Now we have to hire someone to remodel the back yard.

Huh?

"Well you can't spend all this money on the house and have the backyard looking like crap,"

she said

Enter Tim the Gay Landscape Architect from West Hollywood. I only mention that he was gay because gay designers are better than straight designers. And better equals premium. And premium equals more money.

Tim knew just what he was doing. He took an immediate shine to my wife, a calculated move. And together they hoodwinked me with fancy terminology designed specifically to confuse the clueless, schlubby straight guy: arboreal aesthetics, negative green space and botanical balance.

Fast forward ten years and I'm stuck with a tree that I absolutely hate.

Why, you may ask, don't I just have it removed? I'm sure my wife will have some thoughts on that as well. I'm also sure that if I ask for those thoughts it will start costing me obscene amounts of money.

Maybe I'll just invest in a good pair of pruning sheers.