STUPID GRASS




✅ Finish blogging
✅ Make coffee
✅ Check Weather
✅ Assess grass
❌ Shit kittens




The lawn is my bane.  I loathe mowing grass.  My ideal yard is nothing but flower beds which I  weed as part of my decompression process. The current backyard is geriatric-creative. A snowball bush, a hibiscus tree, and lots and lots of aggressively-growing grass. 

Better Half and I aim to change that.  We've already planted a tree. We'll drop in a few beds. We'll fashion a paver stone patio and put in a fire pit ring for those nippy autumn nights.

Those projects are on the to-do list.  Currently, the grass is shaggy and perpetually soggy after several days of solid rain. The skies are currently overcast. Thunder caresses the horizon.  It's come down to mow now or suffer once the rain lets up (Thursday) and the grass has tripled in height.

That's Ohio, fam. Shit grows like mad out here.

What recourse do I have?  There's no escaping my plight.

One of the nice things about getting old is that you don't really give a damn what you look like while in your own backyard.  I went out in my sleeping shorts and ratty tee, bra-less because fuck it, and my hair a humidity-curled, salt-and-pepper nest.   I was drenched from sweat and moisture in the air  within moments. Had the neighbor wives peeked from behind their pretty lace curtains, they would surely cringe at the "crazy squat chick" frantically making passes with the lawn mower.

It doesn't help that my mother's Italian genes gifted me with large tracks of land while my father's Hungarian-Romani blood makes for a stocky build and heavy musculature. Flop-flop-flop went the titties. Crack-crack-oof went the knees.

I asked myself (nor for the first time nor the last) why my genetics didn't swing the other way.  After all, dear Humming Bird has similar stock yet she's weensy-lithe with a flat chest. Even Fritter - child of burly Black British parents and grandparents - is as gracile as a newborn fawn.  (She laments that she didn't inherit her mother's bumper.)

Piff! I'm digressing.  The point is, the lawn is now mowed. I'm wiped out.

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