The fact is that a combination of weak upper body strength, debilitating allergies, fibromyalgia and a certain impatience at any task which doesn't have a chance of granting me a kind of immortality, makes mowing the lawn a very difficult task for me.
In and of itself this is no problem. I know my weaknesses. I also know the many, many things that make me awesome.
But having neighbors and random hoodlums comment on my unusual mowing patterns is becoming unbearable.
It started several weeks ago, six a.m. on garbage day. I was taking out my garbage,before even having my first coffee when this beast says,
You Sure Lack Your Parent's Steady Hand at Mowing a Lawn. Today, during my sub-par attempt,a man with a poodle says,
You Sure Don't Make That Look Easy. To which I ran over his poodle with my lawnmower.
(The poodle, to make matters worse for me, was totally unharmed.)
So now, my quadrant has forced me into a corner. I'm looking into hiring or buying a goat to trim my yard.
But my sister says that is silly, I should get a llama.
I am tempted to resolve the matter by calling my old landlord. He never did anything while I was paying rent. Now that all of the contractual pressures are off, perhaps his latent genius for solving problems with spring forth.
