To My Dear Scotts Brand Lawnmower,
I spend approximately 2 hours a week riding around on you; my the burnt orange t-sip mower from hell, yet you will not defeat me. I have gotten accustomed to your vibrating, whistling, smoking, wheel spinning and all the other issues you throw at me. I no longer appreciate your feeble attempts at halting my productive day. You have crapped out for no reason, thrown a rod (which I was blamed for), snapped a belt (blamed for that too), and are dead every time I try to start you. I have learned to fill your gas tank, charge your battery, top off the oil, negotiate the choke, raise and lower your blades depending on your mood and STILL you insist on making my day hard. I will no longer put up with the disrespect.
In a weak moment, I had half a mind to sell you on Craig's list. I would do it in a heartbeat but I would reel in the guilt of passing you along to another poor soul to handle. I am also not sure what disclosure laws I would be breaking if I didn't tell and someone lost an eye - which I am fairly certain that saying came from a lawnmower back in your ancestry. I have thought of setting you on fire only that the fear of you then igniting my yard and my house becomes a very vivid visual. I have recently dreamed of parking you on the street, hoping someone would steal you and then claiming you on my homeowner's insurance. I would surely have to commit insurance fraud as you are so not worth my deductible, even in your original purchased form. Having rescued you from a home in Dallas to bring you to the country for an escape, I would have thought you would have been better behaved. Shame on me... For this, I am rewarded with a dead battery yet again today. The dreaded heat of Summer is not even here yet and you are already pulling pranks. Not only has the positive red cable not been permanently attached to your battery for some time, as you choose to short out when left hooked up, today you vibrate loose the wing nut my Mechanical-Engineer-Master's-Degree-having husband has rigged you with. Vibrating it loose once - OK, I get it, my mistake. But twice??? And lost in the grass no less on the second round. You shall not succeed. Bailing wire and a pair of pliers and off we go to finish what I started.
It may take me an hour in the hot Texas sun to hook up the trailer to my Yukon and get the lights and trailer tags located but just you wait. We are going on a field trip very, very soon. I cannot imagine the look on the face of the technician at Outdoor World in Azle when I show him what is under your hood. However deep the embarrassment runs, it will be rewarded threefold when I take home some shiny American greenbacks for my trouble. Although I may not want to spend a monthly amount on a no-interest loan for a new mower, you have succeeded in moving up the list, past the in-house ice machine and very close to jumping rank over the new mattress, as the most wanted item on my list.
Be scared my little orange friend; be very, very scared. I will win this war as I choose not to live in an apartment or own a yard I can push mow. I will own a mower that cooperates and allows me to drink and mow without interruption. Just you wait...
Queen Bee
