So we have a lawnmower now, which is great. Ever since my days on the Horkey farm, I was a little petified of having my own house and needing to take care of the grass. Lawnmowers don't like me, they always break, and it's a task like washing the dishes... people inspect your job and the spots you missed stand out real bad.
Last summer there was no rain, so mowing wasn't such a huge deal-- we had benevolent neighbors (crackheads who needed some cash) and we got by just fine.
Since Matt's been gone, the time to mow has arrived. And who doesn't love that smell of fresh-cut grass? So I did a fair amount of it earlier this week and planned to finish last night. Well...
The blasted machine wouldn't start!! I kept pulling the start chord (a whole lot) and checking t o see if I was doing everything right. I called Chris & Bernie (Matt's cousin & uncle); they said that I was doing it right, like the throttle, priming it, safety mechanism engaged. They recommended I "kick it a few times, throw it in the ditch, cuss, then walk away to enjoy a beer. 15 Minutes later, she'll start right up." And wouldn't you know it? I must've put the fear of GOD into our Toro!! HA HA HA Take THAT!
However, my tricep and upper lat are sooo sore from pulling that stupid start chord. What an imbalanced work out. I should have kicked it more.
The funny thing is that I've also gotten a flat tire this week. And Matt took the patch kit with him to NH. So I called Chris that time too. He came right over. I can only imagine if I tried to take on the Explorer!
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