He used to cut my grass. . . .he was such a nice boy. . .

May 22, 2011

The world didn't end.

Surprise.




More predictable?

Underwear.

As soon as my mother eyeballed the underwear she asked for, she announced they "looked awfully big."

I checked against the underwear in her drawer.

She was right.

One size too big to be exact.

That'll teach me to take messages at 6.15 am and then rush to purchase underwear after work when my brain has officially shut down due to overuse.

You'll have to take them back, she said.

Because that I didn't already know.

Of course, when I took them back for what was supposed to be a straight exchange, there was not one pair of underwear in the size my mother wanted.

I know this because I checked.

Twice.

With Stephen as my witness.

Which will be necessary when I tell her that yes, I got her underwear in the right size, but no, they aren't the same kind.

Every other size?

Piles and piles.

Of course.

What did I do?

Spent 30 minutes looking for replacements as close to what she had as humanly possible.

Instead of the four I returned, I came out with six.

I know she is going to tell me that she doesn't need six pair.

Because now she has nine pair.

And there are only seven days in the week.

But. . . .

The buy three for this price was the only Mum size I could find.

Unless she wanted to wear something shiny and slippery.

And I assumed she didn't.

Tonight will tell the tale.






There was a bonus, however.

Other than getting my mother the right sized underwear.

Chocolate.

As we were leaving Sears, I noticed a sale bin and inside were several bars of the relatively expensive Lindt chocolate bars.

90% cocoa.

Yummy!

And instead of bearing the usual $3.79 pricetag, several bars were sporting $1.80 sale stickers.

I bought all of them.

One of the few things I am allowed to eat on my SFL plan is dark chocolate.

The more cocoa the better.

Usually I stick to the 85%.

But I couldn't pass up such a great sale.

Plus, NO ONE in my house likes them.

Just me.

In normal circumstances, I'd have to hide those chocolate bars somewhere in the house to prevent child consumption.

Or Stephen gobbling.

But not these ones.

Again, it's the little things.







Our grass is getting very long.

Unruly looking.

Downright sloppy.

Seems that's what happens when you have a month of rain with smitches of sunlight thrown in.

We're in the midst of a battle regarding the lawn.

I want it cut, by us, now.

Stephen thinks its gotten too long and wants a one time yard servicing.

AKA he doesn't want to do it.

So, I am going out this afternoon to cut it.

The sun is out.

Which is enough incentive on its own.

But more than that, I just cannot stand looking at it anymore.

All our neighbours have cut their grass.

Meaning the disaster that is masquerading as our grass is even more noticeable.






Growing up, I had to cut the lawn every single Saturday.

Out in the morning, pre-ipod, so all I had to entertain me was my imagination, I would haul our very old lawn mower from the garage and spend at least 30 minutes trying to get the damn thing started, before I began the two hour journey from front to back making the yard look nice.

I didn't mind it so much.

Until the morning I almost mowed over a snake.

That sent me into the house, yelling at my father to get said snake from under the front porch because I was NOT going back out there until it was gone.

I also left the lawn mower running.

Which didn't score points with my dad.

Too bad, so sad.

So I am not unacquainted with the technical aspects of lawn mowing.

But, you know, in the ten years I've lived in this house I've never cut the grass.

Ever.

Weed wack?

You know it.

Nothing I love more than getting out the weed wacker and making the difficult to mow spots of our yard look good.

Plus I like the obliterating everything out feature.

Cause you hear NOTHING when you're weed wacking.

Not even your own thoughts.

Hence why I like it so much.

I spend way too much time with my thoughts as it is.

I don't like that my hands are numb and tingly afterwards, but that's short lived.

So this afternoon is dedicated to yard work.

Maybe even some weeding.

Which should tell you how desperate I am to get outside in the sunshine.

I am looking forward to yard work.

What next?

Housecleaning?

God forbid!




Title Lyric: He Used to Cut My Grass by Frank Zappa