After putting it off for, well, longer than I should have I got rid of the gardener. I know. A lot of people don’t have gardeners, but my reason for getting on was more vastly necessary. I didn’t want to do the yard work.
Today is the first weekend sans the gardener and the lawn was looking shabby. The weather report is warning me of a big storm coming in and I realized that if I don’t get it done now it’ll be days before I can mow the lawn. Braving all manner of alien creatures of death, I ventured into the garage and found my relic of a lawn mower.
Now, in my mind I thought, ‘I’ll get the mower, cut the grass, put the mower away… done!’ Uh… no. My garage is … disorganized. I think I’d of had an easier time of walking out of Fort Knox with 500 gold bars in my pocket than wrestling that mower through the gauntlet of my garage.
Undaunted, I kept at it and got the mower outside where it promptly crumbled when it was exposed to direct sunlight. Okay, just kidding, but it hadn’t been out for a very long time. As you can guess, the next hurdle was to get the thing going. At first, it didn’t want to start. Also at second, third, eighteenth, and twenty fifth. But, if there’s one thing I’m good at it’s brainlessly trudging away at something.
With a hearty and sweaty yank of the pull-cord the multi-bladed monster coughed to life. Soon I was guiding it over the raw, untamed nature that is my front lawn. Now it’s trimmed, the mower is back in it’s holding pen, and me? I’m standing in the lawn with fists on hips surveying my handiwork.