I think it was Franklin Roosevelt who said ‘There are some who are born with great blog ideas…and others who have great blog ideas thrust upon them.’ I definitely am a solid member of the thrusted team – where something is pushed at me so strongly that I am practically forced to write about it.
What was forced on me today was cutting the grass. There are people that have literally said to me: ”I really enjoy yard work.” In fact, some of you reading this today (and you know who you are) have said that very same thing OUT LOUD with all the sincerity of a June wedding in the Poconos. I’m not even one bit ashamed to admit that I don’t get you.
Their exact statement would be along the lines of:
“I really enjoy getting out and cutting the grass. Getting to enjoy the beautiful day and breathing in the sweet smell of the newly cut tender tendrils of grass makes me want to just skip in a field of daisies until the cows come home.”
Yes – I really do have friends that talk like that.
Let’s examine that statement more closely:
ENJOY THE BEAUTIFUL DAY. I probably cut the grass once a week. So that’s maybe 30-40 times per year. Of those 30-40 times per year, I would say there was maybe ONE day that I would deem ‘beautiful’. The others were cold, rainy, hot, muggy, nasty, stupid days of the year. Today, for instance, even though some would award it a ‘beautiful’ rating, I have a severe cold. So that beautiful day for me entails coughing, wheezing and sneezing. Beautiful day, my Aunt Fanny.
BREATHING IN THE SWEET SMELL. Of the grass? Or of the gas that I spilled all over my hands trying to get a 3-foot long spout from a 5-gallon gas can into a one-inch hole in the lawn mower without causing some sort of internal combustion – either inside my lungs or outside the lawn mower. Don’t forget the dog crap that I accidentally stepped in while trying to avoid the stupid petunia that my wife planted in the middle of the stupid yard. So sweet smell? You can have it. Gas & crap. Crap & gas.
SKIP IN A FIELD OF DAISIES. More like a field of poison ivy or a field of African violets that have taken over the edges of the yard. I’m skipping to keep away from them so my already-bashed legs from the millions of tiny rocks that are thrown up by the lawn mower don’t get further mauled by burning infections.
COWS COME HOME. You know what cows do when they come home? They crap. We don’t have a cow. We have a dog as big as a cow. He comes home. He craps. See ‘SWEET SMELL’ section above.
Don’t get me wrong, I actually think our yard looks really nice. This picture was taken immediately after the blood-letting (er….I mean the lawn cutting). It will appear this way for approximately 7 hours. After that it begins growing again and mocking me – knowing that in just a few days I’ll have to repeat the process all over again.
So don’t come at me all hither-to with your ‘I really like yard work’ crap. I know the truth – and it’s outside waiting for you.