Weeds Whacked

The help I expected to get with turning weeds into dust didn’t quite materialize but I did get my cuppa joe delivery… Next, my sons were offered up to do the chore but their OCD tendencies are still in development. I knew this would have to be my job… But, Thing Two did offer to fill the weed whipper with its particular fuel blend, prime it, and get it started for me.

I am fairly new to using this particular tool but I have been taught to try to cut from the two o’clock side so the weeds blow away with the counter-clockwise motion. It was suggested I also tilt the head a little to get under the dead weeds in order to truly pulverize them.

And for the most part, I did just that.

When the motor sputters and dies, I realize I am out of fuel and Thing Two tells me he used all of the mix available. I call Donny for advice only to have him tell me he will concoct the gas/oil cocktail when he gets back from purchasing an edger. (I am so excited he is adding a new tool to our collection; maybe I CAN get those plastic borders sunk in far enough to stay there now…).

Heading to the pool to dip, I rinse under the shower and take a look at the debris on my legs. Sure, I’d felt things hitting me, and while not pleasant, I’d still been determined to whack those weeds, kinda like Lady Macbeth washing her hands…

Once rinsed, I recognized that I had a cut just below my knew – perhaps a stick had hit me? It stung a little but no big deal. I got in the pool and floated, and then decided to sit reading while I waited for my gasoline bartender to return.

It was then, as I toweled off and sat on a lounge chair that I truly looked at my legs. It looked like I had Chicken Pox – there were  30 – 40 red dot welts on both my calves and lower thighs. Pretty much everywhere my boys’ swim trunks didn’t cover. Hubby’s response, upon return, “That’s why I wear boots…” Yeah, right, I’d have needed porn-star over-the-knee boots. Wouldn’t that just complete my gardening ‘look’?

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