We’ve been at the beach, as you know, and came home to the grasslands. The yard is atrocious. I am “that” neighbor, the one people talk about but don’t talk to. The one that you drive by and either feel sorry for or infuriated with for not keeping the neighborhood looking good.
Mowing the lawn has never been in my job description; the pretty stuff was up to me. The flowers, the planters, the baskets full of colors, all the extras were my call. But now that it is all on my to do list, I’m very aware of how green and fast the grass grows on every side. With no mower though, what’s a girl to do?
Enter the weed whacker.
I’ve used a trimmer before but never against the green jungle. I decided to attack the back yard first, just in case it didn’t work. What’s worse than an un-kept yard? An un-kept yard with alien crop circles making it that much more “special”.
So I start in the back corner of the back yard. About 15 minutes in, hand already cramping from holding the trigger, I stop to see the progress. Both square feet were beautiful and gave me the boost I needed to go another 30.
At about the 45 minute mark, I hit a rogue blade that flew right in my eye. Already drenched in sweat, I run through the house with my good eye burning from sweaty drips, searching for eye drops.
Determined and now sporting yellow protective glasses, yoga pants and my sports bra that creates that oh-so-desirable uni-boob, I turned Salt n Pepa’s “None of your business” on the old ear buds and became Hard Core Cami.
Over two hours later I cut the final blade with trembling arms. Covered in grass, and I do mean COVERED, clothes wet from the pouring sweat, and itching from the man-eating, vengeance-seeking mosquitoes, I walked straight to the bathroom to shower the yard off of me.
I am now having a Redhead on the rocks for dinner but have to use a straw as my arms are completely useless. Any advice on good lawnmowers are welcome, I see a purchase in my future.