My hands are killing me.
This weekend I was coerced into performing labor. Intensive, sweat-inducing, physical labor of the most degrading nature that my poor, weak, Geek body was completely unprepared for.
I mowed a lawn.
Having been born and raised in a big city where a 10’x10’ patch of weed infested dirt in front of a single-family, waste-of-good-condo-space, home is considered a luxurious ‘lawn’, I had no idea that mowing the lawn could cause someone so much agony. The seemingly simple act of walking in a shrinking square pattern under the burning eye of a blazing sun while being dragged along behind a self-propelled, gas-powered, ear-shatteringly loud grass muncher has reduced me to a simpering, blister laden, body aching crybaby.
Simply holding a fork can reduce me to tears.
Oh, this all started innocently enough. HoBiscuit asked if we could visit her father for Fathers Day and of course I said yes. We spent a pleasant Sunday morning looking around various neighborhoods in the hopes of finding a new apartment (no such luck) and then headed out to her parents place at around 4pm. She told me all about her fathers recent eye surgery, her sisters upcoming visit, and how nice it will be to spend the evening helping her mother cook.
Not once did she mention anything about me doing physical labor.
When we arrived, HoBiscuits father was in the driveway proudly standing behind a beaten up lawnmower. I would have kept driving, but HoBiscuit’s never fully grasped the proper method of ‘Tuck and Roll’ necessary to ensure a safe landing when thrown from a speeding automobile. That, and her father might interpret her violent expulsion from my car as some form of personal attack or insult and then hunt me down and remove my manhood with white hot pincers and serrated chopsticks.
I hate when that happens.
For those out there like myself who have never actually mowed a lawn before, allow me to list the necessary steps so that you’ll know what to do should you ever find yourself standing on a lawn in suburbia with waist-high grass and holding on to a bright yellow and green JD machine.
- Carefully unscrew gas cap from lawnmower and pour exactly ½ gallon of gas into lawnmower gas tank.
- Swear gently as tank overflows and covers lawnmower and driveway with 1/8 gallon of gasoline.
- Smile ruefully as girlfriend’s parents and girlfriend laugh at you and call you ‘CityBoy’.
- Ask for help cleaning up gasoline. As they all bend down to help, pretend to light match and watch them run. Ha ha. Bad CityBoy. Bad.
- Attempt to start lawnmower by pulling ripcord 100 times in under three minutes.
- Clutch chest, fall to the ground and foam at mouth. Serves you right, CityBoy.
- Start lawnmower by pulling ripcord and holding clutch.
- Curse smart-alecky girlfriend.
- Manhandle obnoxiously loud, heavy and vibrating lawnmower seven feet from driveway to front lawn.
- Wonder out loud why the stupid lawnmower isn’t moving no matter how hard you push.
- Thank the cute little 7 year old girl from next door who takes pity on you long enough to point out that you need to release the brake in order for the lawnmower to move.
- Say a silent prayer that you’ll lose control of lawnmower and it will run over the smart-alecky cute 7 year old girl next door. Ha ha. Bad CityBoy. Bad.
- Watch in awe as lawnmower dutifully cuts a six foot long patch of grass and then stops dead.
- Attempt to re-start lawnmower by pulling ripcord 100 times in under three minutes.
- Throw out back, fall to ground, bleed from anus.
- Remember that to start lawnmower you need to pull ripcord while holding clutch.
- Mow entire 7 square acres of front lawn. Good CityBoy. Have a cookie.
- Go to back of house and mow entire 20 acres of lawn.
- Do not mow the garden!
- Curse and swear, just to stay in practice.
- Notice that your good, clean light brown pants are now completely covered in grass stains and smell of gasoline.
- Swear vengeance on your snickering girlfriend.
- Finish mowing the backyard and let go of lawnmower for the first time in three hours.
- Scream in agony as two humongous blisters on your hands burst from the shock of encountering fresh air.
- Vow to use a sharp, hook-pointed stick up the wazoo to remove the entails of the next person who should ever ask you to mow the lawn.
- Listen in silence at dinner as girlfriend and her family poke fun at CityBoy and his inability to hold eating utensils without sobbing in pain.
- Consider coming back at night and salting the entire lawn. Bad CityBoy. Baaaad.
You are just a sucker, arent you?
Next thing you know, you’ll be tricked into painting the house, cleaning the gutters. retile the roof and neutering the dog.
Electric mowers are the shiznit. Yeah, they have a cord, but it’s not as much as a pain as those gas powered ones. They *do* make a cordless version, but it only runs long enough to do the front yard.
My father-in-law likes to supervise from the edge (of whatever you’re doing).
‘If you [insert action] this way, you can [insert result].’
‘When I do it, I usually [insert his way], which might be better than [insert your way].’
‘I spent yesterday sharpending the [insert anything here]. It should work perfectly.’
Might I sugest the liquid grass kiler spray insead of salt. it takes like 2 weeks to kill it and you can write msgs. Much more fun.
Electric mowers are much better! Just run over the cord a few times, eventually it’ll catch, then either (a) enjoy the relaxing ambulance ride to the hospital or (b) call it quits and have a nice tall, cool one. Its a win/win situation I tell ya!
Go and place a cow on their lawn. What she doesn’t eat, she’ll shit upon. Imagine the surprise when they wake up.
Will also provide more meat for next BBQ.