At the very start of spring this year, the flower beds in front of the house, and all of the decorative rocks (I could SURE lose those and laugh) were so overgrown, it looked like nobody lived here.
I went out there one weekend morning in April and sat down with a bag and commenced to pulling weeds. In about 20 minutes, I realized the magnitude of it. I'm too old for this stuff, and it'll take many many hours.
Pedro the Mexican, who was doing some work next door, walked up and said with a grin, "You doin' my job?" I said hell yes I am, how much? He looked it over and said 80 bucks.
So for a few hours Unit and I sat in the house and drank beer and watched Pedro and his helper sit there and pull weeds. When they got done, it was beautiful, pristine. Like a new house on the outside.
6 weeks later, same thing. Plus, there's all the stuff I can't get to with Junior the riding mower. So I'm out there with RoundUp, spraying everything I don't care about (which is in fact the whole yard if it was all about caring).
Pedro comes up again, happened to be working next door again. "You doin' my job?"
I sure am, shoulda done this the first time.
An hour after I got through it rained hard. Crap. Wasted a jug of RoundUp, or so I thought. Next day after work I come around the curve and everything I touched with that stuff was graveyard plant dead. Brown and on the ground. Amazing.
And the war goes on. It seems that a few of the weed species here have interpreted RoundUp to be fertilizer. It no longer even makes them feel bad. They laugh. I'm pissed.
Ortho doesn't do anything, the weeds laugh louder.
This whole story is about the last time I ran the ultralight battery powered weedeater that lasts ten minutes, I was just about through when the battery ran down and the last 5 inches of string in the cartridge got pulled out when it wrapped around the natural gas line.
{expletive} a weedeater, no matter what kind. It's the greatest worst invention ever. Both of those things. Greatest and worst.
I went out there one weekend morning in April and sat down with a bag and commenced to pulling weeds. In about 20 minutes, I realized the magnitude of it. I'm too old for this stuff, and it'll take many many hours.
Pedro the Mexican, who was doing some work next door, walked up and said with a grin, "You doin' my job?" I said hell yes I am, how much? He looked it over and said 80 bucks.
So for a few hours Unit and I sat in the house and drank beer and watched Pedro and his helper sit there and pull weeds. When they got done, it was beautiful, pristine. Like a new house on the outside.
6 weeks later, same thing. Plus, there's all the stuff I can't get to with Junior the riding mower. So I'm out there with RoundUp, spraying everything I don't care about (which is in fact the whole yard if it was all about caring).
Pedro comes up again, happened to be working next door again. "You doin' my job?"
I sure am, shoulda done this the first time.
An hour after I got through it rained hard. Crap. Wasted a jug of RoundUp, or so I thought. Next day after work I come around the curve and everything I touched with that stuff was graveyard plant dead. Brown and on the ground. Amazing.
And the war goes on. It seems that a few of the weed species here have interpreted RoundUp to be fertilizer. It no longer even makes them feel bad. They laugh. I'm pissed.
Ortho doesn't do anything, the weeds laugh louder.
This whole story is about the last time I ran the ultralight battery powered weedeater that lasts ten minutes, I was just about through when the battery ran down and the last 5 inches of string in the cartridge got pulled out when it wrapped around the natural gas line.
{expletive} a weedeater, no matter what kind. It's the greatest worst invention ever. Both of those things. Greatest and worst.
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