Well, that's what I thought, so after church and lunch, the boys and I headed outside to get the grass cut and work on the never-ending chore of picking up branches from the yard.
The thing that really sucks about my yard is....well, actually a couple of things. The front yard is mostly dirt. And trees. Hundreds of little trees that sprout up everywhere. I don't know what they are (locusts?) but they shoot up all over the yard and get way higher than the little bit of grass out there, so I have to mow just to get rid of the trees.
After I got done with the front yard, I took the mower and headed around back. The backyard is almost as much of a challenge, because for some odd reason, the entire yard is full of holes. The only way that I can describe it is that it seems like a giant wore a pair of cleats and then danced all over the place. So pushing the mower is more of an upper body workout than it ever should be, but whatever.
As I got to the back of the yard, by the alley, I had a run-in with...
See it? Do you see it? That little tree over to the right? Looks all sweet and innocent standing there beside its larger counterparts, doesn't it?
Trust me. It is evil. Pure evil.
Anyone who has done any yardwork at all knows what I'm talking about. A Ninja Tree is a tree who has branches low enough that they have to be pushed out of the way to mow under it or to walk past it. And then, at the exact right moment, the branch swings back with the speed and accuracy only known to ninjas and *THWACK!!!* hits the unsuspecting person upside the head. Or in the eye. Or in the throat (my personal favorite).
This particular Ninja Tree has used its skills on me for the last time. After getting nailed directly in the face 3 times today (no, I don't learn quickly) I got mad. And when I get mad, I tend to get even.
I parked the mower, walked around front to the garage, and grabbed the only weapon that I could find - my trusty loppers.
And I went to work.
Ninja Tree and his fellow Ninja-Wannabe branches are now tied up in two nice neat bundles, sitting at the curb, waiting for the trash guys to pick them up Tuesday morning. They will be resurrected into some nice mulch that will make someone else in the city very happy, I'm sure.
And I can now mow without fear of losing an eye. Or teeth. Or the ability to breathe.