I was really disappointed in my weed eating performance yesterday. So, I decided to give it a whirl again today. Our lawn mower has been on the fritz and, again in my infinite overconfidence, I was sure I could use it to mow the whole yard. After all, my yard is the smallest country yard you’ve ever seen and one of my cousins used to do it all the time.
I’m not sure what on earth possessed me to think that the size of the yard and knowing someone who knows how to operate a gas powered demon qualified me as a lawn care technician. Given my history, you would think a warning bell would go off in my head. But, off I went, with a motorbike on a stick, to delicately trim the lawn.
Making sure to stay far way from my flowers and vegetables, I was out for vengeance. I was going to do the entire lawn and I didn’t care how badly my arms felt like they were going to fall off. I didn’t give a hoot how much gas I was burning or how sick the fumes made me feel. I didn’t’ care…..thwack!!!
Apparently, when they say wear protective eyewear in the manual, they do not mean my giant Target sunglasses. While we’re in the land of make believe, all those bald patches in the middle of the yard were exactly what I meant by delicately trimmed. And, that relentless cramp in my arm that prevents me from moving it into any other position than weed exterminator….that’s just a sign of accomplishment. Or, half an accomplishment.
The rest is up to the husband.