It's friggin HOT!Dear sweet Lord of Hosts is it hot outside! No, I don't mean your "garden variety" hot, I mean hot like Satan-put-a-hit-on-all-of-mankind, kind of hot. The devil himself wouldn't come up here without a little battery operated fan clipped to his pitchfork.
You see, I know these things because I'm the "lawnmower crash test dummy" that went out the other day and mowed my grass at like 12:30 in the after-friggin-noon. I told my son that I was going out to mow the grass and he told me that he'd get the bowl of water ready. I have a huge mixing bowl that I put water and ice in so when I get hot I come in and put my face in it. Crude, I know...at least it is until you have a body temp forcing you into convulsions...or so my melodramatic mind would allow me to believe. As it is now I'm still sporting the burn mark from when I hit my head on the surface of the sun while walking out the back door. Stupid low slung orb.
Anyhoo, stomping into the backyard in my son's old tennis shoes (a spider built a web in mine) and wearing my laundry day fashions, I start the mower. After about 15 feet of mowing I start my rant. You know how people grumble under their breath when they are doing something that they really don't like doing? Well I'm not one of those people. I go into a fitpitch mode that can be clearly heard over that old Briggs and Stratton engine. I'm sure the church going elderly and impressionable youngsters enjoyed my wicked diatribe. The only time I didn't have a crapfit was when my head was submersed in water in the kitchen but as soon as I caught my breath again and walked outside I continued to entertain the neighbors with my melodious ranting.
I'm surprised no one called the cops.
Needless to say, I didn't mow the front yard, nor did I weed whack. Next time I'm just going to buy some goats or just pave the whole thing. "Kids, I'm going to go sweep the backyaaaard!"
*A little side note: All of my offensive behavior could have been avoided if the friend that I asked to come shoot me before I got too far into the work to become miserable would have shown up. So, blame him...I'm just a victim here. And in two weeks, when the grass gets high, I'll be a victim again.