Yeah, I'm exaggerating a bit for effect ... there were no tassels. But the point is, I so hate mowing that damn tiny yard of mine that I let it go too long. I tried to bribe some neighbourhood brats, but what's with kids these days? Who turns down $25 to mow a teeny tiny lawn?
So I finally borrowed a neighbour's gas mower and went at it.
True to my established lawn-care form, I waited till dusk ... why start doing things right this late in the game? ... and didn't even make it to the end of the first row before it bogged out. The sheer volume of cut grass coming at it choked it dead.
|IF AT FIRST YOU |
DON'T SUCCEED: QUIT!
Actually, no. I tried again and learned
that, hey, when you mow your lawn
in daylight it turns out better!
It was pretty much dark now so I was doing it by sheer intuition, feeling my way around the yard, bat-like. At some point I must have come to my senses because the next thing I remember, I was sitting at my kitchen table, moaning, "What have I done?" I knew that when morning came, I was going to have to face the murdered greenscape formerly known as my backyard.
To make a long story short, morning came. And it was bad. There were bald spots, there were tufts of 8-inch grass, there were uprooted chunks of sod. I'm sure my neighbours looked out while enjoying their morning coffee and muttered, "Well that settles it. She is completely bat-shit crazy."
And I could NOT go out like that.
So I sparked up the gas mower one more time and evened things out a bit.
Then I raked and raked and raked until I was soaked with sweat, then I heaved the mounds of cut grass over the fence for the deer to enjoy.
And then I went inside and poured a stiff drink and thanked the very heavens that it is mid-October. Which means I will not have to endure this gruesome ritual again until spring. Or until I sell the house. Or until I find some teen who realizes that the desperate lady in Number 5 will actually pay FIFTY DOLLARS if it means she doesn't have to go through that again.