Beverly Mulgrew, she of LAWN & GARDEN MONTHLY fame, knew the task before her would be monumental, and needed to prepare accordingly.
A thick layer of Deep Woods OFF, because Lord only knew what insects chose to make Bill's yard their home. Insects yet undiscovered, she supposed.
A sun hat, although she wondered how much sun might actually penetrate that overgrown lawn of his.
Cotton gardening gloves - not one pair, but two. One must NEVER be caught unprepared.
And of course, her secret weapon, a repurposed tool belt which held no less than 52 essential gardening appliances at the ready, by her hip. She was like the Batman of the gardening scene.
And another coating of Deep Woods OFF, for good measure.
Betty slid aside her French doors, which led to the deck, and basked in the sunshine of her glorious yard. Even the bees flitting about her blossoming lavender seemed to dance in merriment.
She was about to depart for the untrodden sod of her neighbor's yard when she held up.
Safety first, she thought, and pulled hip waders up and over her hips, remembering to criss-cross the suspenders before grabbing her lucky spade.
She wasn't the sort of neighbor who would cut through another neighbor's yard. There were rules about that sort of thing, she knew. So instead, she circled around the block, preferring to go right up Bill's front walk and ring his doorbell - like a socially well adjusted person.
As she rounded the corner of the block, the intense greenery of Bill's property hit her eyes with the intensity of a Supernova. The grass was higher than any hay field she'd seen, eclipsing even the trees in his yard. It was denser than a rainforest, like some primeval plain where dinosaurs would frolic.
Squinting, Betty thought she could see a sliver of glass from the second story windows, but the lot was otherwise still.
As she drew closer, she was surprised at the laser-like delineation between properties. Bill's other neighbors, Henry & Carol, could have cut their grass with barber's shears.
With a new resolve, Betty stopped short of Bill's mailbox, which had been entirely consumed but for the door, which hung open about halfway.
She straightened her blouse with a "Hmmp," and began traversing the walk, to the front door.
The grass closed in around her immediately, and the sun disappeared, leaving her in darkness. Comically, she considered how easy it would be to hide marijuana plants in this jungle.
Two steps later, she thought she heard something furtive to her right, hidden by the grass, and for the first time, it occurred to her how easily a predator could hide in the lush greens of Bill's front lawn, hiding behind the marijuana bushes.
Goosebumps crawled up her arms.
"B-Bill," she called out, and quickened her pace toward the front door.
A leafy stalk brushed her cheek, snakelike, and she screamed as visions of poisonous coral snakes inundated her mind.
She sprinted now, really hauling ass, sure that some invisible puma was about to pounce on her tender, tasty body and sink its horrible teeth into her sweet flesh.
Hip waders are not built for sprinting, however, and she rolled her left ankle only a few strides from Bill's front steps. She cried out, a short chirp of anguish, just before her face was to smash into a million pieces on Bill's stone walk.
But she did not smash her face. Instead, she stopped with a jerk, just inches above the stone.
She looked up to see a smiling Bill, wearing a tank top and striped pajama pants. He clutched Betty by the armpit, "Whoa! I gotcha!"
Betty, grateful for his quick reactions, nonetheless cast a terrified glance over her shoulder.
The killer puma was not there.
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