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Dallas Botanical Garden - Ashley Taylor

So, remember that lawn mower Matt swiped out of our neighborswhohaveapaycheck yard (Let Them Eat Cake)?  The one that he found in their trash pile by the curb that made me want to knock on their door and swear he had been involved in a scavenger hunt?  Well, it wouldn’t start.  Apparently even Matt was too damn embarrassed to try and start it right there in front of their family room bay window so he just simply hauled it off three doors down to our house.  Fast forward.  You know the saying “there’s a reason why someone has placed a lawnmower in their trash pile” or “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it”?  Well, it was broken and Mr. Sticky Fingers knows nothing about fixing lawn mowers so off it went into our trash pile - except that I actually made Matt take it to a contractor’s dumpster so the neighbors wouldn’t get a chuckle or snicker every time they drove by.

Now fast forward several weeks.  April showers bring May flowers, blah blah blah.  We still do not have a yard service, still do not own a lawnmower and guess what?  The sun will always rise and set but not nearly as fast as weeds grow.  I am befuddled how once we had rich, thick blades of Bermuda grass growing in our yard only to now be replaced with various species of dandelions, weeds, vines and dog poo.  How does that happen in one season?  My God, I actually took the yard service for granted.  I thought they were making a mint off of us simply because we were lazy.  We pay them $330 a month and they send a pack of men who descend upon us for all of 20 minutes a week.  Naturally, the yard is perfect, fabu and impeccable – but seriously; can’t we achieve the same results?  The answer is no. Absolutely not.  No way in hell.  I don’t care if you do nothing else other than loiter around your yard all weekend and fill 20 Ace Hardware refuse bags; you are not going to get the same results you would with a lawn service.  It’s like painting your own toenails or highlighting your hair with a home kit.  It looks half assed.

So, Matt arrived last weekend with a “new” lawnmower and a cherry on top weed eater.  He bought both of them for $60 at a pawn shop.  A pawn shop.  Gee, I don’t even know where to find a pawn shop.  This visual takes me many, many places but it doesn’t end up in my actual home.  Well, now it is in my home and you know what?  I am grateful. 

“Thank you Lord for the local Dallas pawn shop that has provided this family with the tools to remain in good social standing in the neighborhood and thank you for a husband who thinks outside the Highland Park box.” 

Matt takes the mower outside and gives it a whirl.  It starts and he is on a tear, chopping away at the Crabgrass, Horsenettle and mushrooms.  I am staring out the window, shaking my head at the irony of it all.  I cannot put my finger on what it is that is actually ironic but I know it exists.  Suddenly, there is an explosion.  Well, first there was an implosion followed by an explosion.  Oil is all over Matt.  I cannot tell how much is spewed all over the yard because it is camouflaged by the Kingdom of Plantae.  The mower stops and that’s the end of our clean bill of health with the neighborhood association.  It’s over.  Matt comes in and explains that he has a 30 day guarantee from the pawn shop.  Nice.  That is so nice of them to give you a 30 day guarantee honey.  Really.

This was a Sunday, now it’s Monday.  I am at the house, folding laundry (my new day job) when I hear a commotion outside.  I look and see two doolies pull up (for those of you who don’t speak Texan, that’s a big truck).  Out jump a lot of men.  Men who are harnessing blowers and weed eaters to their waist.  Men who are backing up rider lawn mowers off the back of trailers.  Men who I would do just about anything for if they were to pay my yard a visit……I watch, secretly.  I study them and their craft, noticing that a lot depends on the quality of tools.  Suddenly, I find myself running across my yard, dodging the dog dung, and waving money in their faces.  I am not ashamed or too proud.  I will pay anything to make it all better in the world.  The world where my driveway and yard looks like a tornado hit in the night followed by several landscaping demons that dumped truck loads of pollen after they planted every species known in the world of Botany….except grass. 

The first, second and third man I approached didn’t speak my language – in the least.  In fact, they simply kept shaking their heads and blowing debris around me.  The fourth was a charm.  He not only spoke my language but shoved the bills in his pocket, shouted a few indecipherable words to the crew and they all ran like tweens towards a Jonas Brothers concert being held in my yard.  I was shaking with happiness, bliss.  It was a magical moment.  I stared in amazement at their swiftness, precision and manliness.  It took all of 15 minutes to transform my jungle back into a somewhat resemblance of a yard.  What a day.  The best day of the week, by far, but then again it was only Monday.