Monday, May 10, 2010
Thou shalt not drop the 'F-Bomb' on Mother's Day
Two years ago, my husband got me a new weedwacker for Mother's Day. I'll let that sink in for a moment.....my Mother's Day gift was a weedwacker. It's not that I complained that I was the one who did all the yard work, and I'm not the type that expects a gift on any occasion. But something about opening that freakin weedwacker on Mother's Day didn't sit well with me. And it didn't help when he saw the look on my face and said, "This one doesn't plug in so it will make your life a lot easier." (What would actually make it a 'lot easier' for me was if he would do the yard work! But I didn't say that.)
The problem with my "make-my-life-easier weedwacker" was that I didn't possess the skills of starting it by myself. (Clearly this "super-easy" weedwacker was made for a man, but little did they know.) Since it doesn't plug in, it requires a heavy tank of gas that rests under the handle and adds about ten extra pounds. So no longer could I simply turn it on, but I had to find a way to balance the contraption on one leg, hold the handle steady and trigger down with my right hand, and yank a pull chord as hard as I could with my left hand. "Gee, that does make my life easier!" The bottom line is, I could not start that freakin weedwacker by myself. That required me to beckon my husband outside every time I needed it started. That process entailed waiting for him to wait for a commercial, get something on other than his boxer shorts, and trudge outside as he loudly commented on how "hot it is out here." (See why I grit my teeth?) To make matters worse, I also seem to lack the capacity to keep the stupid thing running after he starts it.....it doesn't die right away, mind you.....it waits until he's back on the couch in his boxers. Every. Time.
That was two years ago. Last year on Mother's Day, I ended up doing the yard work after church. No complaints. I find it very relaxing to ride the lawnmower around an acre of land and I don't even mind the trimming, as I chalk that up to productive cardio. But then it came time to drag out that horrible piece of machinery......my nemesis.....that freakin weedwacker. (Notice the term weedwacker never stands alone anymore.) And I made the same mistake I make every single time. I attempted to start it by myself. Several times. Until I was hot, sweaty, and pissed and then yelled my husband's name in my very best devil voice and waited for him to appear in the front yard. Let Round two of our ritual begin. He started that freakin weedwacker and right as he disappeared into the house, it died. And that's when I completely lost it in the front yard. The meltdown to end all meltdowns. Right there, in the front yard, in my bathing suit, on Mother's Day 2009, I had a knock-down-drag-out-F bomb dropping-testimony-losing tantrum and I literally beat the crap out of that freakin weedwacker. A couple minutes later, I stood there dripping with sweat and breathing hard, and that's when I heard it.....the clippety cloppety sounds of horses hoof beats on the road directly behind me. I slowly turned around to see a caravan of Amish Families trekking by our house with their mouths gaping open and horrified looks on their faces, confirming forever their stance against technology. Glad I could help.
I don't do the yard work anymore. Not just because of that incident, although that certainly contributed. Somehow I lost my yard work mojo over the course of the last year. I started hitting things, my husband had to change our mower blades four times, Z took up the sport of golf and I lacked the ability to notice little white balls scattered in the grass, and things got dangerous out there. My husband finally put his foot down and announced that he'll be doing the yard work from now on, and so far, he's lived up to that promise.....with exception of one thing.....he has yet to use that freakin weedwacker.
I wonder why? It always made my life so much easier.