So, that one time, I committed a crime, OK?

Let me tell you why I like Lowe’s.  They’re not afraid to bend the rules, for you. I can’t say how far they would bend them—sharing trade secrets, “extras” given rather than purchased—but I will tell you this: they’ll go the distance to help you get mint.

Every year around this time, this humid, wet, hot time, I get the notion that, once again, who I really am has nothing to do with theatre, writing, or teaching. No, who I am, in fact, is a Farmer. I drag out the tools from the side of the house and cultivate the small patch of earth I have laid claim to, over by the magnolia.

I also track down a few unfortunate terra cotta pots that, for most of the year until spring rolls back around, lay dormant around the house, full of aged dirt and some off-shoot Christmas ornaments that I, at some point, thought would look good if decoratively situated and carefully placed inside them.

Everything gets wiped down, cleaned out, and reconfigured.

It is no surpise then that last week, I found myself standing in my front yard, doing my garden-thinking: What will you plant this year, Kris? I thought.

My answer? Squash, cucumber, peppers, dill (always dill), rosemary, oregano, but above all, mint.

I love me some mint.

Amanda and I, thus, found our way to Lowe’s…after we came up mint-empty at the Co-Op. I don’t want you thinking that I automatically go first to the big franchises for all my gardening needs. I go there second.

The Co-Op having disappointed us in the mint department, left us with only Lowe’s as a next-best choice. I suppose we could have fingered the pitiful flora at Wal-Mart, but why.

As we’d checked off our list, again mostly at the Co-Op, I began to have a few second doubts at Lowe’s. The tomato plants seemed a tad bigger here. So, we bought a couple of them.  And here, at Lowe’s, I also found Greek oregano, not originally on my list, so we added that as well. But, where on earth was the mint?

Finally, after digging through rows and rows of sage, thyme, mosquito plants, lamb’s ear (which I still can’t understand, as an herb) and stevia (which I think is manmade), Amanda located the one mint plant left in the entire store.

She cried, “Eureka!” (We really say things like Eureka!, Egads!, Heavens to Betsy!, Cease and desist!,  etc. as a means of self-entertaining) and from way back of the rolling piece of scaffold on which the herbs were placed, out came a mint plant.

I think.

It was beat-up, diseased-looking, and half-dead, but I’m pretty sure it was, indeed, a mint plant.

And here I’d thought you couldn’t kill mint.

Nevertheless, we took it up to the counter to be purchased because we really like mint; it goes well in juleps, you know.

But, then, as Andrew, the store clerk, began scanning our items, I had a change of heart. I just didn’t want us to pay for a plant that was, for all intents and purposes, stupid. I mean, all this thing had to do was sit in a biodegradable container and grow.

It seems that it was unable to do even this much.

I told Andrew, No thanks. We wanted good mint. And this was all they had, but I didn’t want it, anymore. Sorry.

Andrew cast about several suspicious glances a la the original Law and Order, and leaned in over the Miracle Gro Seed Starter Mulch with Miracle Gro. (Not a company known for its marketing skill, I guess).  He gestured that we should lean in as well.

So, we did.

“You really want some mint?” He whispered.

“Yes, we do,” I whispered back.

“All right, then forget this.” He pitched the life-support mint off to the side, where I noticed other untouchables had also been discarded. (This reminded me to start a compost pile).

“I live over at the apartments across from the Baptist church by the hospital? Apartment number 4. I’ve got the best mint around, I’m not lying, and you can have as much as you want, no strings attached. If the lady next door comes out, asking who you are, just tell her Andrew sent you.”

“Are you kidding.” I started to ask, but Amanda had already pulled out her iPhone to Google map his address. She wanted mint even more than I did.

Twenty minutes later, we had a plastic grocery sack, our trusty trowel, and were being led by GPS to Andrew’s mint-ridden front yard where, true to his word, there was enough mint to beat the band.

(We also say things like “to beat the band” though I have no idea what it means).

We got into stealth-mode, despite the fact that it was broad daylight and located in a part of the yard that made being inconspicuous impossible, and we dug up all the mint our hearts desired. We contemplated leaving Andrew a note, saying Thanks.

But, we didn’t.

We just committed the crime and drove back home.

Which is, in my book, how all crime should be committed.  Do the deed, then go home. And do something with what you stole. In this case, as Lowe’s says, ”Let’s build something together.”

After all that is their mission…and I’m pretty sure it’s Andrew who holds the hammer.

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• Last night, my ankle had an out-of-body experience.
• "Why don't you go cut the yard. Again."
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