I have a friend that’s become obsessed with his lawn. An innocent comment on my part (“That’s a helluva lawn you got there, T.”) has started an almost military assault on his front and back yards.
You’d have to know this guy. He’s a wearer of slogan-style t-shirts (“Restraining orders are just another way of saying I love you” and “I Beta-Tested Your Girlfriend”); a man whose house’s interior is a haphazard collection of donated items, all in brown; a man whose refrigerator, at the best of times, holds beer and ketchup. He’s just not the “lawn” type.
It started out small. He started pulling weeds, digging up dandelions. I got a call from him one night. He was a little drunk – drunk and on the internet. Good Lord what a combination.
“Hey. Didjoo know tha’ if you break a dandelion root that it will jus’ make more dandelion roots an’ more dandelions? Huh? Didjoo know that?”
It’s been two months since that call. His lawn has become his part-time job.
“Resistance is futile,” he says, ominously. “I will not be shaken from this task.”
He’s trimming the edges of the yard, watering, mowing – mowing for cryin’ out loud! His property has become the best-looking yard on either side of the street.
This probably doesn’t sound like much. Frankly, it doesn’t sound like all that much to me, either. But it’s a side of him I’ve never seen before.
Having a beer with T has become a bit of a challenge. Unless he’s buying! Ha ha. Just kidding. Well, no, not really. Frankly, if we’re going to talk about the virtues of contact herbicides versus systemic, you’re going to have to buy me a beer. It’s only fair.
I’ve gotta go. We’re meeting for drinks later. He wants to talk about a plan to Weed and Feed that he’s come up with.
He sounds like he’s pretty fired up. I hope he hits an ATM first.
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