lip service

I was shooting the shit with my dad the other day. “How’s the garden?” I asked, for ’tis the season. “Oh, getting it ready,” he said. “Tilling?” I asked (rototilling). The next part surprised even me in its gravity. “Nah. Not tilling this year,” he said, slowly. “Too much fuel.” He didn’t mean that it’s too expensive. He’s a scientist by trade, and every day he reads the news.