Oh sure, yardwork sucks. I could’ve given any teenager twenty bucks and he’d have done it in half the time and not even been winded, but done half the job. As I now look out upon the neatly manicured yard, which just two days ago was a vast and treacherous expanse of mosquito infested weeds and sticker grass, I ponder the price of victory.
First, you have to pluck the weeds and stickers, and this involves an extended amount of bending and kneeling and pulling and such. Plus, me and weed pulling go way back and have never gotten along. I have lots of memories from my youth of pulling weeds, none of which were particularly fond memories, but I don’t remember the after effects being so painful. That being said, I’ve decided the ability to walk upright is a small price to pay for a weed free yard.
Mowing was fun. With every step I sang, “I am I, Don Quixote” and imagined countless hordes of evil mosquitoes dying by my blade. As a side note, I thought I’d mention most women get miffed if you point out that only the female mosquitoes are bloodsuckers, and all the males are deaf. . . But I digress.
Weed whacking/trimming can also be very rewarding, but it generally comes after the mowing. The mosquitoes that didn’t fall to your blade now seek revenge for their lost comrades and start looking at you with those. . . hungry eyes. My ever so pesky inner voices told me not to weedeat in shorts and flip-flops, but did I listen? Nooo. I did learn how painful grass burs (stickers) can be when launched by a Black & Decker Super Mega Ultra Powered week whacker.
The secondary benefit of trimming, other than providing an ‘all you can eat’ buffet for the bloodsuckers, is how efficiently you bombard yourself with a wondrous array of pollens, dust, allergens, and small projectiles. No worries though. The eye patch will be coming off in a few days and go right back in the medicine cabinet till next time.
Note of interest: Tree trimming with a weed whacker exposes arm pits to mosquitoes.
I get emotional as I stand here and gaze upon my yard. My good eye watering . . ., and burning, and itching, and my nose is amazingly both stuffed AND running. I’m sunburned from head to toe and covered with little red welts, but my chest swells with pride (I hope it’s pride) at the product of my labor.
Now, I’m going to hit the showers then apply copious amounts of muscle pain ointment all over my body and cry myself to sleep. Next week I’m paying the twenty bucks.
The adventures of. . .
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