Our grass needs cut. I know it's getting late in the mowing season, but we're probably in danger of violating several municipal ordinances... Here's the thing, though: It's not my job. It's my wife's job to cut the grass. And before you go all “Hold on there, big misogynist!” on me, allow me to explain.
I think I'll have to start with cats. Bear with me. This goes somewhere.
I never wanted pets. My wife wanted to get a cat. I said I didn't want a pet. She asked why? I said I didn't want to have to clean up after them, feed them, care for them, take them to the vet, exercise them, and most of all—because she had explicitly stated “cat,” as opposed to “pet”--I didn't want to change the litter box. She said, “That's fine. I love cats. I'll handle all of that.” And we got cats.
A few years later, we're expecting a baby. The cat box isn't getting changed. We have three cats. She can't change the box. “Toxoplasmosis,” she says. And so I'm stuck changing the box. The baby is born, and I give a haughty, “HA!” as I approach her with the litter scoop. “Nuh-uh,” she says. “Toxoplasmosis. Can't risk it until we're done breastfeeding.”
And that's how, three months after she stopped breastfeeding the baby, I realized that I was *STILL* cleaning the litter box, presented her with the litter scoop. Since then, it has become a war of attrition, a standoff to see how long it will take before one of us gives in and changes the box. I'm winning. I didn't want pets.
What does this have to do with the lawn? Well...
I never wanted to buy a house. My wife wanted to buy a house. I wanted to rent. She asked why, and I told her that I didn't want the repair responsibility and bills, and that—most of all—I didn't want to mow the lawn. I hate mowing the lawn. “That's fine,” she said. “I love being handy around the house. I love doing yardwork. I'll mow the lawn.” And we bought a house.
Did I mention that when we moved in, she was still pregnant? Guess who had to mow the lawn? And for months after the baby was born? Yup. And now it's a war of attrition, each of us waiting to see how high the grass will grow before we mow. And that's why it's *her* job. She asked for it.
Now, there is one time when I particularly enjoy mowing the lawn. Our neighbors own a lawn service, and they are compulsive, twice a week (minimum) mowers. Sometimes, I like to wait until right after they've mowed for the second time in a week, then go out, lower the deck on the mower a half inch shorter than theirs, and mow.
And then sit back and watch, laughing, as they come out and mow their yard again, not wanting their grass to be taller than the neighbors with the slovenly lawn...
Are you still here? Why? I mean, thanks for reading!