If I can bring down an entire section of Interstate with just a jackhammer, then why can't I get this soddin' thing to start? Should be dead easy: all you have to do is yank the little rope on the top two or three times, the engine fires up, and you attack.
"Check the gas?" Where? How? "Read the directions? I'm a man, Mrs. S. Men don't need to read the directions." Where'd they hide the soddin' petrol cap on this thing?
Not here.
Not here.
Not he- Bloody hell!
"Where's the directions, Mrs. S.? In the little pouch marked "instructions" hanging off the handlebar down by my knee? Never. Mind." What total wanker wrote this? Somebody who only speaks Sanskrit as translated into English by somebody who only speaks Shona? If it weren't for the buggery chip in my head, I'd go find the bastard what wrote this, rip out his intestines and strangle him with 'em… "Oh, that little cap. On the top. The one marked "fuel"."
Out of petrol - bloody hell!
"Mrs. Summers? Where's the petrol? I mean, where's the gas? In the garage? Right."
Why didn't I think of that… This place is a soddin' mess, I just cleaned the bloody place out last weekend! When I catch. The bastard. What threw. All the stuff. I boxed up. All over the floor… Xander, it was Xander that did this. I know his type, leaves a trail… "Dawnie was looking for her rollerblades and helmet? Did she find them? Good. Nice to see the kid out having fun with her friends, Mrs. Summers."
"Where's the petro- I mean gasoline? In the red can by my foot? Hand me that manual, will you? Thanks."
It says, "Pour gas oil mix gas oil mix? Where the hell am I supp Right, oil in can, on workbench under the pile of broken clothesline Bloody hell, I just hung this thing last night!
"It fell down when you tried to use it this morning?" Next time I'll use a real nail and not an unbent coat hanger to hold it in place. "I'll mend it later." Let's see… pour oil in gas can, swirl to combine, pour mix into lawn mower gas tank.
"Hand me that rag - it just went all over my boots…thanks." Mental note: never, ever volunteer to do anything again. Not even for beer with human plasma on the side and a packet of smokes thrown in for good measure. Speaking of smokes, I could use one…
"Just kidding! I know this stuff'll go off like a bomb with one hot ash."
"Don't you worry about a thing, Mrs. S. I'll take care of everything once I get this sodd- ah… bloo… darned mower going."
JoyceThis is a bad idea
This is a bad, bad idea.
This idea is so bad that it should have its face displayed on the downtown post office wall among the child molesters and the drug dealers, but what else can I do? Someone from the city came by this morning while I was at the gallery and left a bright orange notice on a stake in the middle of my front lawn telling me that if I don't get my grass mowed within 48 hours I'll have to pay a $500 fine.
Oh God, I don't have the time or the money for this right now! There's that major gallery opening at my shop tomorrow night to prepare for and the big family 4th of July picnic on Friday. I'd call Mr. Rodriguez, but I can't afford his rates any more now that Hank's child support checks stopped coming sometime around last Christmas.
I'd ask Riley, but he's busy teaching summer school over at USC-Sunnydale. I'd pay Xander to do it, but the poor boy's working two jobs already. I'm not going to let Dawnie do it - the mower's bigger than she is! Buffy's busy being the Slayer, and Giles looks like he'd have a heart attack just starting the thing. This just leaves me with Spike, who showed up after sundown like he always does every Wednesday night with a bag of laundry and well - he saw the notice that the City Inspector left on my lawn and volunteered.
I should know better by now.
I mean, I once let Spike change the burned out light bulb in the refrigerator and for two whole days we blew a fuse every time someone opened the door until I figured out what was up.
Before that, I let Spike fix the dripping shower. It cost me $300 to have the head and faucets replaced the next day by a real plumber.
I never should have let Spike unclog the pilot light on the left front burner of my stove; I spent most of last weekend scrubbing and repainting my kitchen ceiling after the fire department left.
Then there was the time I asked Spike to chase the squirrels out of our chimney so I could have it capped. He climbed up on the roof and dropped a handful of cherry bombs down the flue. Well, it did dislodge the squirrels - and about fifty pounds of soot all over my living room. I'm just lucky that I had drop cloths all over the furniture and carpets because I was putting up new wallpaper borders. He chased the squirrels out the front door, but only after they ran under the couch and chewed a hole in my best chair.
So after all that, I'm letting him mow my lawn while I sit in here in my kitchen with the curtains closed, peeling apples and nursing a headache.
I am so, so stupid.
Maybe my headaches aren't caused by having two teenaged daughters in the house, but because I keep letting Spike "help" around the house.
What's that noise?
Oh no, he finally got the mower started. Headache or not, I'm going to tune my kitchen radio to that new speed metal station so I can't hear what's going on out there.
SpikeNow, that wasn't so bad was it? Only took twenty yanks before I broke the rope and had to knot it back together. Now it's roarin' like a bad dream - Dru would have loved this baby!
Why's it not going anywhere?
Hang on, better make sure nobody's looking and check the manual. Says, "Depress lever on handlebar" Must be that one right… "Bloody hell, the damned thing just dragged me ten feet! Why didn't anybody tell me that this thing was self-propelled?"
Not that it's an issue anymore; I just ran over the instruction manual. It's now in so many wee little pieces that I don't think Joyce will ever notice what I did.
"Say, this is a bit of all right. All you do is steer the thi… she didn't need that lawn sprinkler - waste of money. Me runnin' over it was a favor - there's a drought goin' on you know; mustn't waste water!"
Mower goin' forwards, stuff going into the bag on the side, and grass gettin' decapitated.
Things are going as good as when I chased the squirrels out of her chimney. She was so grateful she gave me the rest of the night off! Same as when I fixed her shower. I'm the man for the job! (Well, demon, anyway.)
"Hey, why'd it stop?"
Motor's going, blade's not. What's that burning smell?
"Somethin' funny goin' on here."
Bloody hell! I wasn't payin' attention and I ran over the soddin' birdbath and it's jammed the soddin' blade. Bounce the machine a few times, should dislodge the remains - ah, there we go.
Oi! The remains of the birdbath just broke the garage window when they flew out from under the mower. I'll fix that tomorrow night. Just put a piece of cardboard on it for now. Who'll notice?
JoyceDid I just hear what sounded like a tin can going down the garbage disposal? Was that breaking glass?
"Don't look. Keep the curtains closed. It won't be as upsetting if you don't watch."
No, I have to watch, even if it makes me go blind.
"He. Got. My. Birdbath."
Calm down, I never liked that nasty plastic thing… It came with the… "Ohhhhhhh nooooooo! Spike just ran the mower through my New Guinea impatiens. Twice! He's coming back for a third pass! Stop! Stop!"
"Oh never mind, I can't afford to water them anyway."
Why oh why do I let Spike help?
Because I feel sorry for him?
Because otherwise he'd be hanging around the local bars like I know he does, getting in trouble?
Because I'm an idiot?
D. All of the above?
No, it's because whenever Spike thinks he's done something useful he seems so pleased with himself and I don't want to hurt his feelings. Somehow I get the idea that nobody's ever given him much credit for any… "No! Not the Meyer lemon tree, that was a birthday gift… Too late! He got my avocado sapling, too."
Joyce, you're going to have to show more backbone. You'll just have to learn how to do these things your…was that the phone?
"Yes, Mrs. Richardson, I know that there's an ordnance banning lawn mowers and leaf blowers after sundown. I know, I know, the mower's loud and it's making your pug hyperventilate, but please don't call the police. This is a one time emergency… yes. Yes. Yes. Thank you Mrs. Richardson."
Crabby old bitch! I swear that old woman was born with a flock of flying monkeys in attendance… "Not my...!"
I shouldn't have looked. He's running over the hand painted whirligigs I bought at the Art in the Park festival.
"No! No!"
Now he's menacing Mrs. Richardson's pug with the mower.
"Get 'im! Get 'im!"
Wait, that's not nice for me to say something like that. However, that darn dog pooped on our back steps. Dawnie slipped in it.
"Get 'em! Get 'em!"
Spike"Nasty little pop-eyed ankle-biter, I'll show you why you shouldn't tear a bloke's trouser leg… filthy little bleeder just shot back under the fence. I'll get you next time Fido, I'll set this thing on "mulch" and we'll see who has the fangs in this neighborhood!"
Oops, there went another little tree.
I'll stick the cut end back into the ground. Nobody'll ever notice.
Need to empty the bag again.
Already filled the garbage can, so, where to put the stuff?
That old cow Mrs. Richardson left the keys in the driver side door of her caddy. She's so batty she'll never notice dead grass in her trunk.
"Stay right here Lawn-Boy, I'll be right back."
Oh Hildegard! Have I got a surprise for you. Hope you like green because green's the only color I got! "Will you look at that? 'Er li'tle dog left a prezzie on our driveway." Think I'll put it on the driver's seat.
"That was easy; now for the front lawn."
There's Mrs. S. looking out the kitchen window. Better wave and let her know I'm still on the case.
"Uh oh, there went another flowerbed."
It needed tidying.
That plant with the big elephanty-ear looking leaves was getting too big. Saved me the trouble of pruning it later.
"Damn! Was that a rock I just hit?" No, it was a whole line of concrete ducklings. They just flew off and broke somebody's windshield, this is great!
JoyceRemember that commercial, "New vase, $15.00. New windows, $500. The look on their faces? Priceless!"?
It's no longer funny, even if Spike nearly mowed the neighbor's pug-dog.
But it's bound to be cheaper than the fine from the city. Ooooh, he just hit my little flock of antique concrete ducklings. Now the mower's dead.
Look at it this way: most of the grass is done. Well, the parts that can be seen from the street.
Better put an end to this right now.
"Where'd I put that six-pack and that carton of unfiltered Marlboroughs?"
Spike"Bloody hell, and I was just getting warmed up!"
JoyceSpike looks so pleased with himself.
Call him over, smile at him, try not to hurt his feelings. Try not to throttle him. Don't think about the Meyer lemon. Don't think about the avocado, the elephant's ear, the whirligigs, and the sprinkler head. Hope nobody saw the flock of duckling shaped guided missiles go through Mr. Chang's SUV windshield or Spike putting pug poo on Mrs. Richardson's front car seat and grass clippings in her trunk.
Try not to throttle him.
Smile.
Be gracious.
Remember the pug. Try to forget the grass clippings in the neighbor's trunk and the SUV.
See? Much better.
Give him the cigarettes.
Give him the six-pack.
Sit down in the chair by the back door, lean back, and enjoy the smell of fresh cut grass.
Watch the fireflies.
Don't cry. At least you've avoided a fine from the city.
Watch the fireflies. Shell some peas.
"Ommmmmmmmm."
Remember the pug. Remember the poop. Forget the trunk. Forget the SUV.
"Ommmmmmmmm."
Try not to kick Spike as he sits there on your back steps drinking beer and grinning up at you like he's just done you a great big favor.
"Ommmmmmmmm."
SpikeThink I'll just sit here a while in the dark and enjoy my beer, even if it is American.
Next, I think I'll cut down that big dead branch that hangs over where Joyce parks her car before the wind blows it down - there's a chainsaw in the garage…
Author's Note 1: This was inspired by the memory of watching my younger brother mowing the lawn for the first time. It took mom and dad a year to get the nerve up to have him do it again.
Author's Note 2: My apologies to the Lawnboy company.