Had to Check You Tube Just to Be Sure...

This was my facebook status yesterday: "Ever have one of those days you just pray you don't end up on you tube? Thankful all the neighbors had already left for work when I fell in the dumpster. Also glad I didn't break a bone b/c going to the ER would have embarrassed Brent too." I thought I might elaborate on my good fortune in order to entertain and make others feel better about themselves.

I got up feeling industrious yesterday morning. As soon as the kids were off to school, I decided instead of running as I had intended, I would weed eat and rake the back yard. This is not a job I covet. In fact, the weed eater is my mortal enemy, but I was so tired of all the weeds that I willingly waged war with the evil weed whacker. (I apologize for the accidental absurd alliteration)  

Since I was already dressed to work out, I simply added a sun hat and protective footwear. That was my first wrong turn. Picture it: spandex capris, polar fleece top, J Lo floppy hat, and hiking boots with long socks. It wasn't pretty. Pretty funny maybe, but there were no witnesses, so I didn't really care. It wasn't long though until I had to take the tree limb I had cut (and let fall on my head because the floppy hat was blocking my field of vision) and the full trash barrel of debris to the dumpster. I should include that all the driveways and garages are in the alleys in our neighborhood.  I struggled to hoist the barrel over the side of the dumpster, and it instantly fell straight to the bottom with a sickening thud. When I want to throw out one little bag of garbage on dumpster truck day, the bin too full, and the truck is running behind, but the one day I do the yard work, the truck has come a day early, and there's not one thing to keep the trash barrel buoyed within my reach when it falls in. 

So I climbed up the side of the dumpster and leaned over as far as I could to reach the barrel. My biggest fear was that at any moment a neighbor would drive by and see me in my fancy duds with my rear end pointed skyward. I should have been more concerned about the effect of gravity on my upper body leaning so far over because the rest is facebook history. After I scrambled out with my big ol' barrel in tow, I started thinking about what I would have done if I'd gotten hurt falling in. Naturally I would have called my husband the hospital exec to have the ER expect my arrival. He would have loved that! There are just no words to say in response to a woman in a floppy hat, hiking boots, and fitness gear covered in grass explaining her dumpster-diving accident. So glad we dodged that bullet! He's a lucky man...in more ways than one. 

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.