I love summer. It's warm and sunshiney, you get to have cook outs, (while sweating like a pig, but not really cause pigs don't actually sweat) go swimming (if it actually rains enough) and generally frolic happily all the livelong day (slathered in sunscreen, of course). But the one thing I absolutely hate about summer is mowing. Yeah, I know...you've heard this from me before, but it's important to the story that I reiterate just how much mowing is absolutely no fun.
There's been a bit of a cool--er snap lately so I thought yesterday morning would be perfect for mowing. I try to put it off as long as I can. I know the neighbors probably hate me for it, but somehow I have a hard time being ashamed. Anyway...I donned my old work Airwalks, turned the iPod up to "earbleed" and started in on the yard.
In our yard there are many, many hills. With a push mower, they're small mountains. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I'm literally making a mountain out of a molehill, but yo, did I mention the size of the gas tank on the mower?! That thing holds more gas than Nathan after a bowl of beans...and trust me...that is gassy (mmhmmm, so gonna catch crap for that one if Nathan reads this). So I'm basically trying to maneuver this big ol' push mower full of gas around endless Mount Everests while dying of sweating and slipping around on morning dew. I'm sure it's not pretty. It'd probably go viral on YouTube though. Sooo not worth 15 minutes of fame.
There is one part of the yard I refuse to mow. It's at the bottom of a hill near a HUGE rose bush. These are seriously the most unruly rose bushes ever. I know I should probably trim them, but I was cursed with black thumb. In recovery they tell you to get a plant and see how long you can keep it alive before being in a relationship. If I had done that, chances are Adam and I would still be separated. Okay, that might not be entirely true...I have a ficus that has clung to dear life for several years now. Mom gave it to me because they're supposed to bring luck. I thought giving it to me would bring bad luck--for the plant. By some odd miracle it's still alive though. But that's basically why the rose bushes are so insane...every plant I touch dies. I over water, underwater, leave it out in 30 degree temps...ya know...just generally murder them. So I let them grow wild and crazy.
Oh man! Talk about digressing!
So I won't mow that hill cause it's lame and I hate it. Also, there were yellow jackets at the beginning of the year. Poor Adam got several stings at once because he got drafted to mow it. Yeah..I felt a bit guilty about that one. I hadn't made him mow all summer cause he works and I do the stuff here for the most part and the one time he mows, he gets mobbed.
I don't take bee stings well. I used to be much better at it. I thought as you grew older you were supposed to handle pain better, not whine like a 2 year old who needs a nap.
It's a little crazy how quickly the mind works. I was moving right along on the side yard, thinking the tank of gas would probably poop out soon (oh darn) and jamming out to Uncle Kracker (don't judge me...he's peppy). From what I thought was across the lawn I see a swarm of bees. It takes about half a second to think, "Oh, those are bees...maybe I can stay far away from them, maybe I didn't actually hit their ne------AHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRGHGHGHG." I don't know if the neighbors heard me, but I screamed like I was being attacked by a rabid zombie. My head exploded. Seriously. I would have said literally, but there wasn't actually brains and blood, just pain....sooooo much pain, just above my left temple, actually IN my hair. So naturally I'm swatting at my head trying to get this spawn of satan out of my hair and then it hits me, "OMGOODNESS!!! I am probably completely and utterly covered in bees. They're probably trying to bore through my clothes and make nests in my shoes." So I grab my shirt and very nearly take it off before I realize I'm in the middle of my yard. So I take off running like a mad woman, swatting at my head, screaming like a banshee and thinking that I'm never going to make it in the front door without getting another 84 stings from the imaginary swarm that had taken up residence in my clothes.
I get in and completely strip down. I have never in my life gotten that naked that quickly. I think that's when I came to my senses. My head was pounding and I looked up to realize that I'm standing directly in front of the picture window. The curtains are normally closed, but I had opened them to let some sunlight in. I really don't know if the neighbors got a full on peep show or not, but I'm thinking I'm going to avert my eyes when I see them out for a few days...ya know...just in case.
One single bee flew out of my clothes. To me, that is still one too many and I was eternally grateful that I'd stripped. I think I might actually have a new and exciting phobia now. Everything that flies is a bee until I realize it's not. The really awesome part is apparently I left the mower directly over the nest. Not near it, not on the edge, but directly over. I wanna get a grappling hook to get it, but Adam doesn't seem convinced. I mean come on...even if it doesn't work, I could at least use the grappling hook to pretend I'm climbing mountains. It might actually come in handy the next time I mow. Ya never know....
Yeah, we're gonna murder 'em. They're gonna die. I don't care how we do it, it's gonna get done.
It'll be one time when I'm completely okay with being called a buzzkill.