Mowing the fershlugginer lawn

You would think that mowing our lawn would be an easy maneuver. After all, we don’t have very much of it, it’s relatively compact, and how damned hard can mowing the lawn be, anyway?

Well, to paraphrase my grandmother, “a landscaper, you’re not.” I spent a good hour doing lawn stuff this morning– mowing the over grown grass with the mower, picking up garbage that is unceremoniously dumped in front of our house by young hooligans, using the weed-whacker to get those hard to get places. And while it looks noticeably neater than it did (well, not neater– but at least better trimmed) I was exhausted by it, and if I had paid for the job, I would have probably had to fire myself. There’s still some uneven-ness in the grass, there’s still some garbage on the ground– and there’s still plenty of weeds around.

People like to do this? They choose to do this? Feh.

I think I’d like to just pave the whole thing– except, to paraphrase my grandmother: “A cement-man you’re not.”






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