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You know, the funny thing about owning this tiny plot is the property line dispute with my neighbor. I had to hire a surveyor, and he used a GPS so small it could guide an ant to a breadcrumb. We argued about where my land ended and his began. I felt like I was negotiating the terms of a peace treaty for two neighboring countries, and the only resource at stake was a patch of grass smaller than my coffee table.
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You know, I recently bought a piece of land. Now, when I say "land," I mean a piece of real estate so small, it's almost a parking space. I thought I was getting a backyard; turns out, it's more like a back postage stamp. I tried to throw a barbecue there, and my neighbors thought I was just having a really intense picnic. I can mow my lawn with a pair of nail scissors; that's how small it is. I asked the real estate agent if it came with a magnifying glass.
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So, I start imagining what I can do with my little piece of nature. I thought about gardening, but it's so small that I can only grow a single blade of grass. I call it my "green oasis." I tried to plant a tree, but the squirrel laughed at me and said it needed a condo, not a treehouse. I think my land is a secret meeting place for ants; they probably have a whole city under there. They see my piece of land like, "Hey, Steve, look at this guy pretending he's a landowner.
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People talk about epic adventures in their backyard, like discovering hidden treasures or encountering wild animals. In my backyard, the only epic adventure is trying to find where my dog buried his bone. I have a metal detector, and it beeps constantly because the whole yard is basically a treasure trove for him. It's like I'm on a quest for the lost artifacts of Dogonia. I found a sock last week; I think it's considered a national treasure in his canine world.
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