I wish I could afford to have We Mow It come here regularly because my yard has never looked prettier. Two guys showed up last Thursday and cut the grass; edged along the driveway, walkway, and sidewalk (which has NEVER been done before); and even blew dead leaves and twigs off the front steps and back porch. I tried to talk them into letting me get them some iced tea or water because they looked like they were about to have a heatstroke, but they kept insisting they had water in their truck. Maybe I looked like one of those black widow ladies who would poison them and then chuckle evilly? Or Annie Wilkes in Misery. "I'm going to put on my Liberace records, Mr. Man!"
Much to Daniel's eventual dismay when he finds out (because he won't have an excuse not to cut my grass, mwah-ha-ha-ha), I now know how to work that stupid lawnmower. Kevin stopped by Saturday on his way to an art fair and walked me through the process. One of two things might have happened when the mower conked out on Daniel: He didn't back off the throttle (choke? whatever) from its starting speed to its running speed, or he let go of the safety bar on the handle that has to be pressed down while running the mower.
Weird. I just talked to him, and he insists he did neither of those things. Maybe my lawnmower hates him?
The humidity finally cleared off today, so I opened all the windows for the first time in more than a week. I got a burst of energy around 4:30, after talking to my mein boyfriend (how's my Cloris Leachman impression?), and in the past couple of hours, I've vacuumed and shampooed the carpet in the living room and dining room; mopped the kitchen, bathroom, and entryway floors; and cleaned the bathroom. I'm sweaty and my blood sugar is dropping like a rock. Maybe I'm crazy?