I got an amazing deal on a Black & Decker Weed Wacker at a garage sale back in June. I was so excited! Finally, no more trimming with those giant scissors, which I had fallen out of love with years ago. This new baby is beautiful, orange and black, so sleek, looking like it means business, I couldn't wait to use it.
But wait, let's talk about the name Weed Wacker. Are we actually wacking any weeds? I know I'm not. I'm trimming the grass, "edging" if you will. So, why don't they call it the Black & Decker Edger? These things keep me up at night.
The first time I used this beast, I had no idea what I was in for, only that I should wear shoes. This is good advice, especially for me, because if anybody is gonna wack off a toe, it's gonna be me. Eye protection is also a good idea, maybe a welder's mask, to fend off the flying projectiles that inevitably spit up at your face. I opt for sunglasses in order to still look cool whilst wacking. I didn't feel so cool, however, when I got pinged on the tip of my nose by what must have been a tiny little knife. Not cool at all...
So I'm wacking, trying to get the feel for this thing, angling it as I'm swinging it back and forth. Every few seconds I'd move it wrong and hear that terrible sound which then revealed a butchered patch of grass. Oops.
I'm starting to feel really inept with this thing and I don't feel inept often. I can mow a lawn like nobody's business, plant and nurture a garden, paint the inside and outside of my house, fix things, assemble a barbecue and have put together my share of IKEA furniture over my lifetime. I can do stuff. So this thing, this wacker, is beating me. The honeymoon is over. My front lawn looks good but the scars are there and it hurts my pride. Where did I put those scissors...?
No comments:
Post a Comment