Mowing the Grass

The days are getting long again and sunshine fills the air. Birds sing sweet songs again, bees buzz around fragrant flowers, and the grass, once again, has grown lush and thick. Time to wash off the grill, clean the pool, and, of course, take out the lawnmower.

As I heaved the dirt encrusted clunker across the yard, I remembered that the self-propelling mechanism had broken last year. But in a great brainstorm of economics, I had decided to not fix it. Having to push it myself would be great aerobic activity and supreme muscle building for my arms. I had decided to use old fashioned strength and determination to mow my yard. My giant yard. With lots of grass. More grass than I remembered it having.

So as my daughter reclined on the swing in the fresh spring air, I heaved and sweated and pushed that monster machine around the yard. Since my daughter regularly confuses herself with the Queen of England, I knew I would receive no help there. And having decided over the winter to accept my post-forty year old body, I knew this old mower was no longer the turbo-muscle machine that I had dreamed it to be. I seriously needed a new mower.

It was actually exciting to be the one to pick out the brand new lawnmower. I never had that privilege before. So trying to be the best lawnmower chooser ever, I went from store to store and observed many makes and models, and asked many mechanical questions of men that wore aprons and had pencils behind their ears.

I opted for a shiny black mower that propelled itself and came with a two year warranty. My son helped me pick it up in his truck and then put it together. It was nice to know that several years at Louisiana Tech and thousands of dollars had come to use by him being very proficient at assembling the handle bar of the mower. But all that shopping had left me very tired, so I waited several days before taking it for its first run.

Sunday morning I got up bright and early, and didn’t decide to mow. I waited until later. Then when no one else looked like they were going to mow, I ran outside and fired up my new machine. It was very fast, and very easy, and I buzzed right down the yard. And then it broke. I had a beautifully mowed half yard and a broken mower. My husband patted my back and told me he would take it back to the store.

When he got there they wanted to repair it. After all, I had bought the extended warranty. He patiently explained that it was brand new and he just wanted another one. The guy with the pencil behind his ear wasn’t very happy. He had coffee waiting and two donuts on a napkin. Telling my husband he couldn’t return it without the bags and papers it came with, he sent him back home while he went back to his donuts.

My husband remained calm and went back for the bags, of which, luckily, we still had. He then returned to the store where the man had finished his first donut. At this point my husband said he didn’t really want a new one anymore, he would prefer his money back. The man said he needed the credit card it had been purchased with. Which happened to be my mom’s. She had kindly used it that day when shopping with me, because my son had talked me out of all the cash in my wallet. And my one and only credit card, also.

So my husband had to retrieve my mother, which was not that easy a task. Prying a woman off a quarter slot machine, when she was just ready to hit three 7s, is very difficult. Especially when she hadn’t eaten her free buffet yet. But with much hard work, and promise of dinner at Captain Ds, he got her back to the store and they refunded our money.

4 hours later, 1 dinner at Captain Ds, 3 rolls of quarters, and much frustration later, my husband returned home having completed returning the mower. He smiled tightly and told me although I had done a very good job at choosing the last one, and was very good at tending the grass, he knew I wouldn’t mind if he bought our next mower. He just didn’t have any energy left for more returns. And not nearly enough quarters left to ask any more help from my mom.