Yard Work . . .
And yet - there are things in this world we know. The sun will rise. Lena Dunham will pop up in an episode of Scandal and be equally unlikable in that role as her every other. That Psych was cancelled too soon. That chinos are the thinking man's blue jeans. Facts. Plain and simple. Facts. So it should come as no surprise that I am well aware that buying a house brings a certain amount of domestic labor with it and, yet, I still avoid it like the plague.
My parents once notoriously hired a guy to come to our house, climb a ladder, and change the bulbs in the flood lights that illuminated our driveway at night. I like their style almost as much as I like their offspring.
Well . . . the piper swung by yesterday to be paid and pay I did. You see I tried to take the easy way out. I hired a teenager (for as much as I resent the millennials I am even more afraid for what awaits us when this next generation with their emoji-obsessed, please don't speak when you can digitally communicate, I'm going to just hang out here until something finds me mentality) to mow our lawn every two weeks with weeding/edging every other time (every four weeks).
So there was not a single time that things went off without a hitch (mowing once ever six days, ignoring the edging part, not being able to find the money for payment - that was left under the ONLY THING (which is a very distinct thing - for the record) on our porch for them. And then we hit rock bottom . . . paying the extra money for the edging, reminding them for the third time that our lawn includes the area around the garage, and still coming home to a half-mowed, half-assed lawn.
Shame on us. So yesterday I did the "right" thing. I rose at a descent hour and went outside for what I presumed would be an hour or so of my time and sweat. Well . . . three hours and twenty minutes, and a broken extension cord, a flooded lawn mower, three steps in dog crap, and five or six bee stings later (I unearthed their nest - my bad) later I finally decided to shut it down when the rain started (and proceeded to last three whole minutes).
The good news is that the lawn looks great, I'm going to fire those teenagers (let their next client just find them and they'll never again have to search, in vein, to find their money) and I'll, henceforth, suck it up and do manual labor - at least 20 or 30 minutes (our lawn is TINY) every fourteen days or so, eight months-ish out of the year.
Stupid lawn. Stupid manual labor. I'd rather birth a baby. I'm kidding. Clearly.