There's a strong possibility something is clinically wrong with me, but I have to fess up-I like doing yard work. Stop rolling your eyes, Brent. I like trimming the trees (except when I get stuck in them. It's funny for everyone except the lady 15 feet off the ground with her butt wedged between the branches while her boys are on the ground asking if it's time to call for help yet.) I like using the hedge trimmers to sculpt the shrubs. I even like mowing. I'm not allowed to do it for reasons that Brent will be glad to share with you if you just ask him, but I enjoy it. Weed eating on the other hand, is a horse of a different color.
I don't know what the weed eater's problem is, but it hates me. It's as though it sees me coming and makes up its mind to torment me from the get go. Today for instance, it was hidden in a corner of the shed where I couldn't find it at first and then had to detangle it from some life jackets just to get it out. I know it did that on purpose. I did a thorough poop scooping in advance today because last time, I trusted my kid to scoop it before I weed whacked, and it did not end well. We'll just leave it at that. I think I heard that dumb weed whacker laughing at me that day.
Since it didn't get the pleasure of witnessing a dog poop event today, the evil thing made sure the cord came unplugged with every step I took. I yelled at it, "the hedge trimmers never give me any trouble. What's your problem?" That just seemed to tick it off more. As soon as I finished my tirade and plugged it back in, a chunk of cement flew out and nearly took off a toe. (I don't normally weed eat in flip flops, but I got careless) The madder I got, the more stunts it pulled to make matters worse. I swear the trim line wrapped itself around a weed and pulled out about 3 feet of green string, entangling the spool and making an impossible mess. All I could think was, ahhh! The more string it wastes this way, the sooner I have to refill it! I am about to be banned from refilling the string because it brings out the absolute worst in me. I NEVER manage to get it wound on the spool without drama. Marriage troubling drama. It's possible that I have thrown the weed eater in a fit of rage after trying unsuccessfully to get the string in it, and that could be why it hates me now.
I finally got the job done today, but I am petitioning Congress to pass a law that would make weed eaters come with a label that clearly indicates "If you were born without a Y chromosome, you are not equipped to handle this machinery. Step away immediately!" I'll stick to climbing trees and embarrassing myself in front of the neighborhood instead.
I don't know what the weed eater's problem is, but it hates me. It's as though it sees me coming and makes up its mind to torment me from the get go. Today for instance, it was hidden in a corner of the shed where I couldn't find it at first and then had to detangle it from some life jackets just to get it out. I know it did that on purpose. I did a thorough poop scooping in advance today because last time, I trusted my kid to scoop it before I weed whacked, and it did not end well. We'll just leave it at that. I think I heard that dumb weed whacker laughing at me that day.
Since it didn't get the pleasure of witnessing a dog poop event today, the evil thing made sure the cord came unplugged with every step I took. I yelled at it, "the hedge trimmers never give me any trouble. What's your problem?" That just seemed to tick it off more. As soon as I finished my tirade and plugged it back in, a chunk of cement flew out and nearly took off a toe. (I don't normally weed eat in flip flops, but I got careless) The madder I got, the more stunts it pulled to make matters worse. I swear the trim line wrapped itself around a weed and pulled out about 3 feet of green string, entangling the spool and making an impossible mess. All I could think was, ahhh! The more string it wastes this way, the sooner I have to refill it! I am about to be banned from refilling the string because it brings out the absolute worst in me. I NEVER manage to get it wound on the spool without drama. Marriage troubling drama. It's possible that I have thrown the weed eater in a fit of rage after trying unsuccessfully to get the string in it, and that could be why it hates me now.
I finally got the job done today, but I am petitioning Congress to pass a law that would make weed eaters come with a label that clearly indicates "If you were born without a Y chromosome, you are not equipped to handle this machinery. Step away immediately!" I'll stick to climbing trees and embarrassing myself in front of the neighborhood instead.
