I just now finished mowing the grass, one of the handful of chores Stine had set for me to take care of during her absence and I am taking this opportunity to hereby proclaim, with the fervor of a Jonestown zealot, I hate grass! I do. I loathe it. I despise the whole damn concept that it has become a mandatory social requirement to plant, what basically amounts to a concentration pretty weeds, on our property only to have to later, and repeatedly, push a squatty, low-slung machine with a dangerously high-velocity spinning blade all around in order to cut them down. It is my assertion push-mowers are apparently designed and constructed for people no taller than 4 8, so at 6 4 the strain to my lower back I got from the damn thing is insufferable. And for all you summer-happy lawn-lovers who are going to say but, you need to buy a riding mower!, please understand I live in Garden City and my yard only has about 40 square feet of grass. To all the rest who are going to say So, with so little grass to mow, it should be a snap! allow me to tell you about the prolonged fist-fight I just had with a member of some foreign strain of killing-obsessed giant mutant wasps who was lying in wait for me to run the mower over the little sniper-hide he had built for himself near our shade tree. The insane ducking-and-weaving and flailing-of-arms while bouncing around like some methed-out parkour student I did to combat him must have made the neighbors consider calling 911. Seriously, this thing was big enough to shoot with my .40! The reasons for my love of winter are well-known and many, and hovering somewhere near the top of that list is theres no yard-work or flying insects about.
Posted on: Sun, 29 Jun 2014 01:05:14 +0000
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