Lawn Mowing | Leave It To The Professionals

Up until recently, I thought that mowing the lawn was a simple task.  Turn on the mower and go.  Straight lines that showcase the lawn's beauty was a no-brainer.  Just follow the path and viola ...a perfectly landscaped yard similar to the above picture.

Well, that may be the case for everyone except ME!  Note to self:  Leave it to the professionals.

See whoever mowed that lawn actually knew what they were doing...and I. DO. NOT.

Let me explain...

The weather has been a tad bit "off" this summer.   No rain for three months means dead, crunchy, brittle grass since June.  Welcome late-August, and the rain hit like every spectator during the Super Bowl was showcasing their rain dance moves.  Hence, the lawn mower has been brought back among the living.

Thanks to my very observant eye, it became aware to me that our lawn was in need of a trim.  I thought I'd be a loving wife and tend to the yard all by myself.  Okay, it's not a yard when you live out here where the cows wonder free.  More like a small section of "the plains", but you get the point.  I thought "Self, this should be an easy task.  Mowing the lawn is something you've done your whole life."

Note:  Do not try this at home for mowing the lawn may prove to be a bit...difficult.

So I ventured outdoors to unleash the mower.  I climbed into the seat, gazed at the knobs while thinking "I can SO do this", and tried to start the engine.  Well, it didn't start on the first attempt, but believe it or not, I wiggle a few buttons here and there, and the motor started running!  Woot.  WOOT!

Then, I looked down at my feet and noticed there weren't any pedals or any sort of brake.  Okay, so how do I make this thing move, and most importantly, stop?  I spotted a contraption that resembled an Atari game controller.  Flashbacks to the days of Centipede were running threw my head.  I grew up in the era of video games...I've SO got this!

As I drove away, I was as proud as a child who just lost their first tooth.  Off I zoomed thinking "Man, my husband is going to be so thankful!"

Well, that thought lasted all of two seconds as my life flashed before my eyes!

I felt like I was on a wild roller coaster that was never given the "all clear" by the roller coaster approval people.  Or maybe on some random episode of "Punk'd".  I kept looking for Ashton Kutcher to run out from behind our barn and yell "You've just been punked!"  Sadly, no one was there to save me from the wretched beast.  And I'm sure if someone were there to witness this disastrous incident, I would've been seen across the web thanks to camera phones and YouTube.

Somehow, I managed to cut a pattern into our yard that included everything but a straight line.  I zipped and zoomed in every possible direction like a cat who had just inhaled the lovely aromas of catnip.  I felt as if I might be launched into the air high above the clouds thanks to this uncontrollable contraption.  Pretty darn certain that staying on a wild bronco would've been a doable task in comparison.

And who wanted a yard full of trees and other mowing obstacles?  And who keeps planting 596 trees every spring?  This mad woman needs to stop!  Who cares about a beautiful scenery when your faced with a life or death situation?  Trying to mow around a tree is next to impossible seeing how I almost lost an eye due in part to straggly branch and my inability to make the insane mower move in a circular direction.

Zero-turn mower...I think not.

Maybe this operator should enroll in a lawn mowing course the next time she ventures to help with outdoor maintenance.  Yeah, I'm pretty certain aliens will be touching down in our backyard thanks to the crop circles that seemed to form in our now not-so-meticulous lawn.

It's not a pretty sight, y'all.

As for my husband being thankful about my escapade, you'll have to ask him about that.

*Disclaimer: I'd LOVE to show you a picture of my failed accomplishment, but alas, I'm too doggone ashamed.  I so thought mowing the lawn was an simple task.  The joke was on me.