--I think I’m going to have to mow the grass this weekend,
dammit.Spring comes late in
these parts, and most people mowed last Saturday or Sunday for the
first time this season.I, and
a few other holdouts, decided to give it another week.Ahem.
Unfortunately, it’s been raining nearly every day since I made that
decision, and the stuff is growing fast.At this point there’s a ripple whenever the wind blows, like
a field of wheat.I’m sure
Poppa Half-Shirt is over there walking from window to window,
muttering obscenities, and slamming Coors Light.He probably has to draw a hot bath, and put on some
Michael McDonald to calm himself down…
So I’d better drag my ass out there on Saturday, and start walking
behind the vibrating box again.God,
how I hate it.Whenever my ship
comes in, a lawn service will be the very first call I make.Oh, I’ll be calling them real
good.
But in the meantime I guess I’ll go out every weekend (or so) and
work up a good crack sweat/scrotum irrigation, eat a few pounds of
dust and pollen, have gnats break-dance on my eyeballs, be menaced by
bees with nothing to lose, run over a rusty potato masher from
whereabouts unknown, and blow a hole clean through the left ventricle
of my heart.
Ahhh… summer.
--And speaking of mowing on
the weekend, when I lived in the South (and that includes southern WV)
you weren’t supposed to mow on Sundays.That is the day of rest, you see.And you’d better watch your step, Jack, or find
yourself in trouble with the Baptists - and nobody needs that.
Is it still the case?Somehow I
doubt it.I remember
mowing my lawn on a Sunday morning (although I think it was here), and
a woman pulled up beside me in a car.She
motioned me over, and said in a really snotty tone, “I’ll be
praying for you IN CHURCH today.”
Can you believe that?I said
thank you with my mouth, and shove it up your ass with my eyes.
When I lived in Greensborothey had something called a blue
law, which prohibited businesses (other than gas stations) from
opening before 1 pm on Sundays.That was a minor annoyance.I’d
be sitting around my horrible apartment starving and counting the
minutes before Kroger opened, so I could buy a pot pie.And how is that spiritual?
In Atlantathere were no beer sales on
Sunday, which made it necessary to plan ahead.Not a big deal, you learned to adjust…Get burnt once, and you never let it happen again.I couldn’t manage to renew my car registration on time, but didn’t have a bit of trouble navigating Georgiabeer laws.
I remember taking a road trip to see the Police in Lexington, KY, and getting caught up in that
No Beer on Sundays crapola.It
was me and Bill and Rocky, and we ran out of beverages.It was a genuine tragedy!So,
what did we do?That’s right,
we bribed a turban-wearing shop owner, who passed us a suitcase of
Budweiser through the back door.
Of course I was sometimes on the other end of such things, especially
when I worked at a convenience store in West Virginia.One day some dude came strolling in, from New Yorkor New Jerseyor someplace, and dropped a six
pack of Heineken in front of me.I
told him we couldn’t sell beer on Sundays, and he flew into a rage.
He called me every variation of hillbilly in popular use at the time
and, of course, threw in a few comments about farm animals.Like the whole
thing was my idea.Hell, if it had been up to me, we would’ve all had hot and
cold running water, and another knob to engage the Rolling Rock tap.There was no need to make insinuations about sheep-love.I mean, seriously.
I got a late start on this one, my friends, and need to stop right
here.If you have any stories
to tell about so-called blue laws, or No Beer on Sunday situations,
use the comments link below.
And I’ll try to make up for my shortcomings tomorrow.
