I Can't Be Right All The Time

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A couple of weeks back, I was standing with Boo in the middle of a store, staring at a row of lawn mowers and my eyes were slowly starting to glaze over from boredom. All the talk of engine prowess, blade length, gas vs. electric was not exactly what I had in mind when he offered to take me shopping.

Bugger. He totally bamboozled me.

Boo was sold on a shiny looking mower that was self-propelled and a hundred and fifty smackers more than the mower beside it, which was just an old fashioned push mower.

I was all about saving the hundred and fifty smackers. There was a pair of sandals I had in mind and that hundred and fifty would go a long way in buying those pretty shoes, plus some.

After all, how hard would it be to push a lawn mower around the front lawn. We have a ride along mower for the big stuff. Why spend the extra money?

Because it is FACKING hard work, that is why.

I'm too pretty to sweat like this. No wonder Fric and Frac looked like they were going to keel over from exhaustion after mowing half of the lawn on Sunday.

Next time, I'll keep my big yap shut. There are no sandals in the world pretty enough to push a stubborn, heavy, loud, rattling mower up and down the hills I call my yard.

Yes, I am a twit. And my husband was right. Even if it pains me to admit it.

I am now in the process of trying to kill said new mower so that I can get me a fancy self-propelled mower. Don't tell Boo.

Learn from me people. Sometimes menfolk really do know what they are talking about.