|Why are you inside? That grass isn't going to cut itself.|
I've waited the better part of 36 hours and the grand experiment appears to be a failure.
For Friday night when I got home from work, I decreed that the grass must be cut.
I have waited and waited to no avail.
No helpful lawn fairies cut the grass in the wee hours of the night.
Therefore, as always, I need to put on my "big boy pants," sally forth and fire up the mower.
So for the next couple of hours, I will be chasing the roaring beast back and forth, hither and yon.
Cutting the grass.
And people are amazed when I tell them "I like winter."
I shall return.
|We'll keep an eye on things from here. You got this?|
Yeah Anya, I got this.