Thursday, July 25, 2013

Mower Madness

I am fit to be tied. FIT. TO. BE. TIED.

Nothing, I mean nothing, pushes me to this degree of fitness like feeling inept. A sense of ineptitude makes me furious with myself and takes me to the mat in a fraction of a second. And if I anticipate that sense of ineptitude, I'm likely to throw myself on the mat voluntarily and await the inevitable. Then, when the fury descends on me, it's a little like being in a padded room.

If that doesn't make any sense to you, pretend it does, because you DON'T want to take me on right now. All I need is an excuse to Stooge-poke your eyes.

Why? I can't get the mower started.

This is one of those asinine things that falls within the traditional realm of manly duties that my husband usually assumes, because -- and this is my considered belief -- he thinks I'll screw it up. And I can't even spunkily prove him wrong because I can't get the damn thing started!

I tried everything. Clutch in, weight back in the seat, choke out a little. No go. And here's the depth of my desperation to prove I can mow the lawn with the hairiest of men: I Googled *starting a mower* on the Internet. Don't even say it -- I know that just makes me more pitiful. (Do you have any idea what it takes for me even to admit that I did it?)

Know what the Cub Cadet site said? That I did everything right! Know what that tells me? THAT EVEN CUB CADET DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO START THEIR MOWERS. But that gives a woman determined to assert her self-sufficiency little comfort.

A minute ago my husband called to tell me he was finished golfing, and I oh-so casually mentioned I was having difficulty getting the mower started. He replied, "Oh, that thing is really tricky to start. I'll do it when I get home." I thanked him, not revealing my aforementioned fitness to be tied. Then I hung up and fell to my knees, sending up a prayer of gratitude that our particular Cub Cadet riding mower has a difficult disposition and that I am not as inept as I thought I was.

I'm trying to block out the thought that Jim is currently on his way home, saying thanks that I didn't get the opportunity to screw up mowing the lawn.

He probably installed a hidden kill switch somewhere on the mower, just in case I ever got a burr under my saddle to mow the lawn when he wasn't around.



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