Attention all yard boys!
You know who I am talking to ... all those guys whose yard looks better than the storied greens at Augusta.
“I don’t do collard greens, but I’ll eat turnip greens three meals a day,” Hammerhaid said. “Especially if I have a nice, hot cornbread muffin.
“They do greens in Georgia. Know it for a fact. My uncle’s brother’s cousin lives down there in southern Georgia, and they do greens in a big way down there. Turnip greens, collard greens, mustard greens. Heck, they got greens you’ve never even heard of,” he continued.
Hold on. Not that kind of greens.
We’re talking about the emerald green lawns of died in the wool yard boy.
“Oh, them *&^% greens,” Hammerhaid muttered. “I hope those *&^%$ are happy.”
“That’s a first,” wife Betty Lou said. “Hammerhaid is glad that someone else is happy.”
“Don’t you know sarcasm when you hear it, woman?” Hammerhaid said.
“Oh, was that what is was? I thought I was hearing the voice of envy?” she laughed.
“*@(@!*&^,” Hammerhaid grunted.
At that Betty Lou broke out into peals of laughter.
“What’s wrong Hammerhaid honey?” she giggled. “Aren’t you glad that spring and lawn mowing time is here?”
“Yep, we are getting a nice crop of wild onions already and the rye is clumping up,” he admitted. “With all this rain, I am already getting behind. If I just didn’t have to trim.”
“Hammerhaid honey, you have never been much at getting the trim done. You have a gas trimmer, an electric trimmer and two or three pairs of trimming shears. What’s the problem?” Betty Lou asked.
“Well, the gas trimmer won’t start no matter how much I cuss it. It is worse than a dang chain saw. The electric trimmer is out of string. And the ....,” he explained.
“You didn’t explain what is wrong with the hand trimmers,” she pointed out.
“Oh, you know about my condition,” he whispered, as he quickly turned up the volume on the news.
“What condition? Lazybuttitis?” she laughed.
“Dunlaps disease,” he grinned.
“I know, I know ... Dunlaps disease ... your belly has ‘dun’ lapped over your belt,” she grinned.
“It is old, but true saying. I just can’t hunker down there without getting constrained,” he said.
“You might try getting some pants that fit instead of shoehorning a 50-inch belly inside pants with a 32-inch waist. It is a wonder you can breathe,” she said.
“Well, I do experience some shortness of breath when I bend over,” Hammerhaid said, secretly hoping for some sympathy, but none was to be found.
“You just stay in your little fantasy world, Hammerhaid honey. Wait, do you hear that?” she asked.
“Hear what?” he said.
“It’s the hum of all those neighborhood yard boys taking a quarter inch off the top of their perfect lawns. You better get out there and get to work,” she said.
“There’s no hurry,” he insisted. “Those same nuts have been mowing most of the winter when they weren’t busy dethatching, fertilizing and overseeding. Oh, I almost forgot aerating.”
With big “grump,” Hammerhaid moved out to the garage to get the mower ready for the season.
There was only one problem ... the mower was missing.
In fact, Hammerhaid had spent the whole last weekend reorganizing the garage and hadn’t missed it.
“Betty Lou, where is the *&^%$ mower. You didn’t donate it to Goodwill? That was a perfectly good mower!” he boomed.
She feigned ignorance and finally admitted what happened.
“Don’t you remember? We loaned it to someone,” she said sheepishly.
“You musta loaned it. I don’t do such things. Lawnmowers and power tools are just like books. If you loan them, you never expect to get them back,” he snapped.
T-t-t-t-t-t-that’s r-r-r-r-r-r-ight.
So with that, he was off to hunt for the lawnmower of his dreams.... |
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