Please don't kill your wife...

...or at least try not to maim her.

When we bought what is our first and current house not two years ago my feelings about yard work could best be described as ecstatic. Over the course of those two years I would say I've gravitated closer and closer to miserable. Cutting the grass in particular has been the down fall of my assumed jubilation. It is a never ending and thankless task, if you keep it cut the most you can hope for is a cold glass of lemon aid or sweet tea. If you don't stay on top of it you can expect glares from the neighbors and a headache and a half when you don't get around to it.

This past Friday I was taking care of three weeks of neglected mowing and taking my headache with a forced smile. I had my iPod going and had finished the easier parts of the yard in good time. On the side of our house I was attempting to cut around a planter with the mower instead of the weed wacker, which would have been the proper tool. Crystal came outside to say goodbye, as she was heading out to shop with my Mom. Not wanting to leave a corner uncut before I kissed her goodbye I gave her a nod to wait just a second for me.

Now please note at this time that I love my wife dearly and would never wish her harm. Occasionally she might bug me when I'm on the computer, but that is done out of love and certainly with no ill will. As I angled the mower down on the 4v4 planter tie the blade grabbed (sounds like the mower's fault when I say "grabbed") the spike that holds in place. The mower shook violently for a fraction of a second and tore off a 2 foot section of wood that could best be described as a stake for killing vampires (in this case vampire wives). Said stake turned into said projectile and launched at my dear wife. It had the range and speed to warrant a trip to the hospital, but thankfully the lawn mower was three feet to the right in its attempt to end my wife's professional walking career.

In the aftermath Crystal was barely shaken by the event, but the lawn mower had played its last goodbye. Flipping the mower over was gruesome site, one end of the blade had been bent at a near 90 degree angle and inner workings looked like they had taken the bad half of a full 12 rounds. I turned it back over and gave it a pull, nothing, yet another pull and again nothing. Thirty some pulls later and it was clear that I was getting nothing, but a tired forearm. I retired the mower to its shed (read: mausoleum) and went inside with a half cut yard.

Sunday I got up and went to Lowes, with my credit card in hand, intent on covering up the previous days mistakes with a brand new lawnmower (I don't know where the old one went officer). Carrying the new mower from the car to the back of the house, we passed by the scene of the crime. Knowing full well what I had done to its brother in mowing arms it made every attempt to thwart my goal of finishing the yard. By the time I made my way to the inside of the florida room, box in hand, my back had been pulled and I was down for the count. Lawn mower 1 - Adam 0.

With rain yesterday, I sit here today bidding my time. Knowing that great evil awaits me in the florida room this evening, wish me luck dear reader, wish me luck.