Last night, Dave had plans to meet up with one of his buddies for a beer, so I decided that when I got home from work, I would work in the yard for a while. It was our first truly sunny day for a couple of weeks, and it was a perfect 67 degrees, so it seemed like a good idea. Also, since it doesn’t get dark until almost 10:00 at night here, I knew I had at least a few hours of sunlight that I could spend on it.
Yeah, right. Here’s how that scene played out:
1) I’d like to rake up all of the weeds that I cut down last weekend, but I need a wheelbarrow to haul away all of the stuff that I rake.
2) Where’s the wheelbarrow (you know, the one that our yard tried to eat)? Ah, there it is. But one of the handlebars broke off in the Great “Pull the Wheel Barrow Out of the Damn Mud” Adventure. And a one-handled wheelbarrow is just about the most useless thing ever.
3) Our riding lawn mower has a little trailer attachment that I could use instead of a wheelbarrow. Hmm… the trailer isn’t hooked up, but I guess I could figure out how to attach it. I wonder where Dave leaves the keys for the lawn mower? Maybe it doesn’t need keys, maybe I’m just supposed to push one of these buttons… holy mother of God, this thing is a stick shift?? Run away, run away!!
4), Ok, my grandiose raking plans are officially thwarted. Hey, maybe I’ll do some more weed-whacking (ha!), since I was pretty good at it last time, and the area in front of our fence (like, between the fence and the street) really needs to be cut back.
5) Alas, the weed-whacker, she is out of gas. And it’s one of those appliances where you have to mix the gasoline with oil, and I have no idea how to do that. Scratch the weed-whacking plan. Back to square one.
6) Well, there’s that front flower bed where I sprayed all the weed killer last week, and it’s all brown and dead now. I guess I can find the hoe in the garage and get rid of all the dead weeds out there. Then when Dave asks what I did while he was out, I can tell him I was hoe-ing, and won’t that be funny. Hee.
7) Um, hoe-ing is hard. (Start humming, “It’s Hard Out Here for a Hoe.”) And even though the weeds are dead, they still have roots. I need one of those motorized tiller things. (Look in the garage.) Nope, we don’t have one. Didn’t think so. Damn.
8) Well, we do have the regular ol’ lawn mower (the kind that you push by hand), and there’s that big area in the back our property where the riding lawn mower can’t go because it’s too bumpy. Maybe I’ll just mow that section and call it an evening.
9) What on earth do you have to do to start this thing? I’ve started lawn mowers before, I don’t remember them being this complicated.
10) My neighbor across the street is edging his lawn. Maybe I can ask him to help me start the lawn mower. Except I’ve never met him before, and how lame a first impression is that? “Hi, I’m your neighbor Helpless Female who can’t figure out how to pull a damn cord to start a stupid lawn mower.” No thanks.
11) Ah, to hell with it.
12) I am obviously PMS-ing, because it’s ridiculous that I am about to burst into tears over this.
13) (Thirty minutes later: showered, in pajamas, microwaving leftover Chinese food, and watching an “ER” rerun on DVR.)
Fin.
Hey, I found your blog!
I applaud your attempt. One of the reasons I don’t want to buy a house is the yard maintance. And you have quite a large yard if I remember correctly.
Linda! You’re here! Yay!
The yard is indeed quite huge (almost 2 acres), so keeping up with it is a pain. But, I’m going to make Dave show me how to use some of the major lawn appliances tonight. Because you know, we’re just fun & exciting like that.
You are a brave soul. I am terrified that I will cut off fingers and/or toes, so I stay away from all gardening machines, appliances, mechanisms, etc.
Hee. š My husband cringes every time I say “we should do something about our yard.” Inevitably, I will start it (for about 10 minutes) get bored/tired/frustrated and wander off to do something else. And he is left to finish it.
Eeeewe, yardwork is dirrrrty. All those milli-slug-grub-pedes and ticks. Not to mention the sticky-sweaty heat. I’d totally live in a downtown condo if it weren’t for my live-in lawn boy. I bet you would still live in a downtown condo too, if not for your Talented And Devoted lawn boy.
Every spring Tony and I get a bug up our butts to plant lots of stuff in our garden. While I put down little flowering plants and herbs, griping and complaining the whole time, he kindly sympathizes and lays out tons of mulch, digs giant holes, plants trees, mows, edges, and installs some kind of elaborate irrigation system. Then he WASHES THE CARS (crazy, I know). He seems to enjoy himself, though.
I would indeed live in a condo, if I hadn’t fallen in love with a guy who already owned a house. (My one-bedroom apartment in the city versus his four-bedroom house in the country. Guess which one of us had to move?)
But I’m not sure about the Lawn Boy part. He does the requisite mowing, but the actual “gardening” around our house leaves a lot to be desired. Which is what we’re trying to fix this year. š
My last mowing excursion ended in some kind of wierd Crop Circle Effect. If viewed from above, it could be interpreted as having some deep mystical meaning.
In reality, I got bored and went inside to watch TV.
Dave forgot to mention that the riding lawn mower also has a drink holder. And he is often guilty of MUI – Mowing Under the Influence.
*gasp*