Crape of wrath

A few months back, I shared my confession with you. I was a murderer.
A crape murderer, to be exact.
I had chopped down an enormous crape myrtle in my backyard, something that drew ire from some of the plant lovers of the community.
I tried to assure them that this was self-defense. The tree had grown so large, I had carved out a tunnel that you could drive a small car through.
OK, so not that big, but WAY bigger than a crape myrtle needs to be. (Oh, and a quick sidenote: It’s “crape,” not “crepe.” I had some spirited debate with some folks last time, some even pointing out that there is a Crepe Myrtle Court. So be it. But the tree I murdered was a crape. The pastry I just finished? A crepe. And delicious.)
Sorry, got distracted. Where was I? Oh, tree attacks, that’s right. Anyway, this thing got so big and unruly that when it rained it would droop down and cover my back door. Some of the branches would also scratch against my daughter’s window, making it sound like something was clawing at the screen, which is a fantastic lullaby. (I did offer to let her watch a movie to drown out the sound, but apparently “The Shining” just didn’t do it for her.)
So I murdered the tree one morning when my wife was gone and could not stop me. I managed to do so without losing any fingers or breaking any windows. I was left with a gigantic stump in the backyard, which I had planned to get to eventually. I asked some people who remove trees what’s the best way to get stumps out of the ground. Apparently it involves chains and the occasional backhoe. I have neither. And I can safely bet that should I try to get a backhoe into my backyard, it would not matter where my wife was. Her idiotdar would start beeping like crazy and she would be home in no time, standing in front of it like a Tiananmen Square recreation. (The idiotdar has previously gone off when I was stuck on the roof; when I tried to give our daughter a haircut; and when I decided to drive to a hurricane.)
The stump became a bigger issue when I noticed that the crape myrtle was growing back. Fast. All around the giant stump were these shoots that started spiking up. At one point, they were taller than my 5-year-old, and he used them as a super cool hiding place, which made me all the more the bad guy when he saw me bringing the hedge trimmers out.
After I leveled the first resurgence of branches, I began to seek other ways to get rid of the stump. I went to a home improvement store and asked a guy if he had chemicals that could kill a stump once and for all. He looked over both shoulders, then leaned in to me, “You didn’t hear this from me,” he said, and proceeded to detail a complicated, fiery plan to dispatch the stump. The idiotdar would have gone nuts.
I opted instead for a chemical that you pour into the stump and then pour hot water on top. It also says to light charcoal briquets on top. Seriously. I think they may just be seeing how much crazy stuff they can get you to do.
Now, before you get on to me about my abuse of this tree, you have to remember: (a) it’s out of control with growth, (b) it never should have been planted where it was and (c) it angered me by rapidly growing back to the point where I actually tried to mow the tree.
To complete the lethal injection, I had to drill a hole four inches deep into the stump. When I went to do this, I learned that crape myrtle stumps are actually made of solid lead, and no drill bit on the planet can bore into them.
So that’s where we stand. The stinking thing is still there, routinely sprouting up new branches just to mock me, the deadly chemicals sitting ineffectively on the sideline.
I have no idea how I am going to get the stump out of there. But if you hear a loud beeping, you can bet I got a backhoe.