Night Of The Mowing Dead

The lawn mower is against me. Ran out of gas about 75% of the way through mowing. No problem; that’s pretty standard, actually. So I fill the tank with gas, and the mower refuses to start up again.


Now, as I’m sure Mike will attest in the comments, I’m way better with a database engine than I am with an internal combustion engine. I’m not sure where to start, so I kind of putz around with it for a while.

No help. The mower won’t start.

My neighbor Bob, who is an attorney, is a very nice fellow, and offers to let me borrow his mower tonight and whenever else I may need it. Very neighborly. I take him up on his offer, because I just want to get the lawn mowed by this time (it was very much overdue).

At this point, Jen is secretly hoping that our mower is dead. She hates it. I don’t know why, but she and the mower don’t get along. She has told me several times that she would be happy to do the mowing if we had a “decent” mower.

I finish up the yard with Bob’s mower, which falls apart as I’m almost done. One of the knobs on the adjustable handle falls off. So I complete the job, simultaneously mowing and holding Bob’s mower together, trying to think of some way to fix it. I find the knob in the grass, and eventually the bolt that holds it in place as well. At the very least, I can return Bob’s mower intact.

My father-in-law arrives with his chainsaw to help us remove some bushes (no one trusts me with the chainsaw; this is wise of everyone). He offers to look at the mower. Cool, I think. If anybody can fix it, it’s Clair. Clair is equal parts MacGyver, Wozniak, Vila, and Dilbert.

Clair can’t fix it, at least not without some more tools. But I don’t think he thinks he can fix it, because he starts giving us buying advice, at which point Jen is thrilled.

And quite frankly, I’d be OK with a new mower, too. If Jen did the mowing, that would be cool. Not that I mind doing it; it’s just hard to find time while the sun’s shining.

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