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Hey Guys, Don’t Make ME Mow YOUR Grass!
It took two years. But my angry rants flipflopped into making my mowing duties easier.
There’s a looney woman loose in the neighborhood. Unfortunately, I am that crazy person.
Two years ago, if my neighbors happened to look out their front windows, they would have caught me in the act of mowing my front yard. And on each side of the house, I would have been raising my fist in the air and hollering, “C’mon guys. I’m the sixty-year-old here, with a push mower. Mow up to your own property line!”
Okay, I didn’t really holler. My words were merely low decibel volumes muttered under my breath.
I didn’t really shake my fists in the air either. Instead, I stared at the strip of unmowed grass on each side of the house, where the two men from either side didn’t think they needed to mow all the way to their own property line.
They were both younger, probably in their thirties. They each had a riding mower. I was sixty plus years old and mowing the half acre lot with a push mower. At least it was a push mower with an engine, and not like the true push mower with…
