I enjoy mowing our lawn... I really do. I have been mowing lawns since my fifth birthday when my father looked down at me and said "Today you are a man... mow the front lawn." I must admit that it was probably my fault that he thought I was a boy seeing as I ran around without my shirt on for the first six years of my life and refused to wear anything pink or pretty or *gasp* a dress! I even looked like a boy thanks to the short haircut I had and my fascination for snakes and everything muddy. Geez... do I miss childhood.
Once I hit puberty my father realized I was a girl but still had me mowing the lawn. My older sister somehow got out of the job the older we got. Her talents were placed elsewhere... like washing dishes. My little sister, well she was crowned a princess the moment she was born so the thought of her having to mow the lawn was preposterous. Her talents were better used by dressing up the dog and looking cute with her bald head (seriously, she did not have any hair until her 12th birthday.)
It was not until my husband married me and rescued me from my life of child labor and no cable TV that I no longer had to mow the lawn. He did it. He did all of the jobs that I grew up doing. He took out the trash, painted the garage, unclogged the toilet, changed the oil in the car and knocked down all wasp nests that were attached to the gutters. The only thing he didn't do that I did growing up was take my grandmother's contacts out of her eyes at night. That is a talent that you are born with... no mere mortal can take the contacts out of a 80 year old woman's eyes with a mini plunger and surgeon-like steady hands the way I could.
Anyway... since my husband has been deployed, I am back to doing all of the manly jobs that have always been his. That means I am back to mowing the lawn. Now, many of you may be saying "June Cleaver, don't you have an 11 year old boy who is more then capable of mowing the lawn?" Yes, you are correct, I do. But there is one problem. My son does not make his mowing lines straight and I just can't take driving up to my house and seeing crooked lines in the lawn. It makes me crazy. I am not proud of my OCD, but I have learned to embrace it and therefore I mow the perfectly straight lines into our lawn myself.
One thing I have not been able to do has been to weed whack. It is not because I don't WANT to weed whack, it is because I have not been able to get the damn weed whacker started!
Each and every week I look at the weed whacker. I read the starting directions. I turn the knob to the letter "A" and pump the little bubble until there is gas in the bubble. I try to hold onto the weed whacker while I pull the chord three times. This is about impossible because I do not have man muscles in my wimpy arms and therefore I cannot hold up the weed whacker and pull the chord all at the same time.
I hate this weed whacker. There are no kidding 7 steps to get this thing started. Women do not make their devices this complicated. The hair dryer? Just turn it to the "on" button. The curling iron? Again, the "on" button works. Blender? "On" button. Dishwasher? "On" button. Stove? "On" button. Husband? Oh... don't get me started on how easy it is to get this one turned on.
Well, Saturday I was able to get the weed whacker started. That is right, I cracked the man code on lawn maintenance. I happily went around the house whacking everything in sight. About mid-way through, I noticed that nothing was getting cut anymore I turned it off (after standing there for a good 5 minutes with it running full speed afraid to turn it off because I was not sure I would be able to turn the damn thing on again). I saw that I was out of the green rope that is needed for doing the whacking. This is the part where I throw the weed whacker down on the ground and kick it and the neighbor who is watching me out of her window picks up her phone poised to dial 911 if need be.
Don't tell my husband, but that weed whacker is still in the middle of the backyard. I am making an example out of it. I bet all of the lawn tools in the garage are freaking out. "Have you seen the weed whacker? The woman took it out on Saturday and it hasn't been seen since! I mean, she brings back the van each time she takes it out and she even brings the lawn mower back... but I am frightened now. What if I don't dig a hole big enough or what if the hoe doesn't-well, you know! Do we send out a rescue team? Do we just sit and wait for the next tool to be whacked?"
Be afraid... be very afraid.