Had a lunch date with Junior last week, when I was down in the City attending to some medical issues. Yup, the old "temple" is collapsing in on itself faster than this pile of red bricks we call "Falling Downs."
Anyway, I was explaining the lawnmower woes to him, and I must say he provided some refreshing insights. As the regular reader will know, I have a long-standing aversion to riding mowers. One reason I have defied Dr. E.J. Crispin's dire prediction of forty years ago (to wit; you'll be dead soon) is because I'm pretty religious about getting regular exercise.
For sure! I'll walk five miles to meet my drug dealer instead of taking the car, if you know what I mean. It's that namby-pamby soft life-style that kills off the aging addicts, not the actual addiction. So I've always seen the push mower as an integral part of the exercise regimen, at least till this week.
So after hearing my compelling yarn about how and why my dandelions came to be three feet high, he says "Dad, you gotta get over yourself; get a fucking riding mower already."
Truth be told, I'd already been guiltily eyeballing the riding mowers. Home Depot has a sweet little John Deere number on offer for two grand. My inner Calvanist immediately says "OK asshole, spend two grand to avoid exercise; you'll die soon and you're going to hell."
I generally give my inner Calvanist short shrift, but this observation has been haunting me. Therefore Junior's logic struck me as quite liberating. He says, "Dad, if you get a ride-on, you can think of it as sitting down and having a beer."
Hmm... he's right! The lawn will be done in half the time, and it won't be time spent pushing around a walk-behind in the hot sun, and that wee Deere does in fact have a cup holder; I'll just be sitting down having a beer!... while steering a little John Deere!
Thanks pal!
No comments:
Post a Comment