Apparently, with nothing to do, folks out here mow their grass. Incessantly. Mom is trying to convince me to get outside and mow her yard… Um. I’m good. I think I hear a cricket under the bed that I need to fish out. Thanks though. Oh, it’s been three days? Oh wow, call the lawn mower authorities because I’m refusing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a work horse. I will work before I sleep or eat. That’s totally how I roll. That being said, who the hell mows their yard… every three days?! In humidity. Sweating. With turf particles sticking to my legs. Is it me or does that sound ridiculous? I’ll do many things to get my sweat on; but, somehow this just doesn’t suit my fancy. Hire a landscaper. I can guarantee you, the scenery doctor would rather enjoy the hike upward in his pay.
So then I’m informed that my moms neighbor mows his grassy knoll every other day. What?! That’s right. I didn’t stutter. And neither did she. Every. Other. Day. Ok, I get it… We are in the middle of country-no -where and it moves at a much slower pace. People walk around here. Or drive. Or they sit on their porches, creepily, eyeballing me as I have been running a few miles each day. Clearly, I’ve become the freak of nature -new girl in town, who’s not really new- who does this strange act of exercise, that the natives haven’t yet figured out who I am. Or was. Or who’s daughter, of which, I belong. Even though I was born here… Did some high school… Have a couple exboyfriends…
But either way, I’m still not hopping on top of the motorized panoramic yard trimmer… I don’t care if it has a steering wheel or not. Although the cup holder looks fun…
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