The Grass Genie Part 2 ...

The Grass Genie has been identified, and the Grass Genie no longer cometh.

I suppose it was just a matter of time, but the unidentified grass cutter mystery has come to an end. It seems a local lawn service company changed the employee who works in my neighborhood. The new guy thought my house was on the list of houses with a contract. His misunderstanding was my reward. But now the original employee is back on duty ... meaning my grass is overgrown ... and looks like the dreadlocks hanging out of helmets of some NFL players.

Now I have had to devise a "Plan B" to get the grass cut ... and that "B" does not necessarily stand for "best" plan. I decided to purchase a lawn mower and cut the grass myself ... imagine that. 

"How hard can it be," I asked myself. Parents assign the grass cutting chores to their teenage sons, and nobody gets hurt ... at least not very often. I've seen pregnant women cutting the grass ... probably to induce labor. Hell, I've even little blue-haired ladies cutting the grass. I've seen kids who can't tie their shoes, pushing the lawn mowers. And needless to say, I have seen husbands cutting the grass. Surely I -- the Queen Buzzard Belle who has survived more than 50-years of semi-hard living -- can cut grass. 

First I had to buy a lawnmower. This was no easy task ... sort of like going from store to store looking for the perfect outfit to wear to the perfect party. It's not like asking if this new outfit makes certain body parts look better than they really look. However, there are things like horsepower, and cutting radius, self-propelled, and different fuel types.

I looked at that guy in the lawn and garden department like he was a used car salesman wearing a plaid sports coat and a food-stained tie. This is what it must be like when a young man makes his first walk through the condom isle at the drug store. The difference is that I got to touch the lawn mowers, push the lawnmowers, and look at the attachments for the lawnmower. I don't think the pimple-faced kid with the sweaty palms, gets to do all that in the condom isle ... at least I hope not!

So I decided on a light-weight, electric powered lawnmower that is an energy-saver, non-polluting to the air, low-noise, and non-vibrating. And the price was decent, too.

Next was to put it together ... which wasn't too hard. However, getting the grass catcher on the mower was a little more difficult. I'm not going to try to compare it to attaching a condom, because this is supposed to be clean ... or at least sort of clean. Just trust me, it wasn't easy.

Then came the actual using of the lawn mower. I was pushing and grunting, working every inch of the lawn. My back was cramping, I was gasping for air and sweating like there was no tomorrow. And this went on for at least 30-minutes ... maybe more, I just lost track of time.

Now .. Now ... Now .. I was cutting the grass ... just cutting the grass ... nothing more ... don't think that this sounds like something else ... don't make anything more of this story than cutting grass ... although I wish there was something more to be made, but that is another story for another time.

Let me tell you a thing or two about this electric lawnmower. It needs no gas, it doesn't stink the way regular lawnmowers stink, and it doesn't vibrate your hands and arms until they fall off. However, that extra-extra-long extension is a royal pain in the rump. I had to dodge that thing like you have to dodge road-kill on country streets. At one point that cord was wrapped around my legs like a boa constrictor. I had to stop and restart that lawnmower so many times it was like the first time I drove a stick shift car.

I have a new respect for those people who cut grass. I am almost inclined to say that allowing youngsters to cut grass is actually a form of child abuse. And ladies trust me, if your husband has the stamina to ask for sex after cutting the grass ... grant his wish, because he deserves -- and has earned -- an afternoon or evening of sex. 

Unfortunately, I am a divorced woman and the closest I came to a sexual experience after cutting the grass was a pint of Benny & Jerry's best ice cream ... at least I didn't have to fix breakfast the next day. That may be the silver lining in this story ... ice cream. Trust me, it was good, yet sex would have been better.  

But I did it ... I accomplished my goal ... and I believe I deserve an "atta-girl" on my back. Next step is to buy one of those weed-wackers. Just think of the damage I can do with that toy.

" ... and the buzzards keep circling!"