Today I mowed the lawn for (I think) the first time in my life.
It’s a strange thing, mowing the lawn; for me anyway. I always thought it looked really cool (I know – I’m sad), but we have a huge petrol mower, and it sounds sort of animal-like, so I figured it would be a fun experience. I don’t know why I’ve never done it before now; something to do with it not living up to my expectations, perhaps.
It seems such a manly thing, mowing the lawn and coupled with our giant mower (which from now on I shall refer to as ‘The Machine’), I was preparing myself for some feminist or caveman-like urges to overtake me (deciding to sport hairy armpits or chain myself to the garden fence maybe.)
This didn’t happen.
Our grass was crazy long due to the monsoon-like rain we’ve been having lately, and ‘the machine’ was not happy with it. ‘The Machine’ kept choking on the grass. I did my back in. I sweated like a pig. I shouted. I got dirty. There was nothing cool about it. By the end of the mowing experience, my feet were green – GREEN. Flip flops and damp, cut grass do not mix well. Noah popped up at one point and asked ‘Mummy, you OK?’ I smiled and hobbled into the house after him.
I won’t be mowing the lawn again any time soon.