We can't print Bob's descriptions of lawn mowers by Bob Karolevitz Power lawn mowers are (expletive deleted) weapons of mass destruction.
I swear they were either invented by the Ku Klux Klan, Al Qaeda or the Mafia just to make my blood boil.
If I were the cursing kind, I would use expressions like @#!!*&% and *$%#!�!! each time they quit on me when the lawn is two-thirds mowed.
Maybe it�s just me, but why does it happen that the drive belt breaks, the engine started smoking or any of a number of things go wrong when I am at the helm?
Being a mechanical dimwit, all I know how to do is turn on the switch � and then the blasted machine won�t start.
�The battery�s probably dead,� Phyllis says, as she hooks up the charger. (I never touch that monster because I can never remember where the red thing-a-majig clamps on and the black one goes.)
Our son-in-law, Pat Garrity, has practically worn ruts in our road answering Phyllis�s plaintive calls for help when I get in trouble. He�s shown me how to clean dirty spark plugs, afix loosened wires and where the solenoid (whatever that is?) hides out.
Heck, I can�t even find the right page in the instruction book!
We�ve tried replacing sick mowers with new ones until my checkbook runneth under. Even the new ones quit on me.
Of course we could hire somebody to mow the lawn for us, but that would rob us of the �fun� of doing it ourselves. Besides that, we need the exercise.
I�ve read all the advertisements about each kind of mower, how they�ll turn on a dime, mulch clippings and seat you in great comfort. But the colorful brochures never tell you about all the stuff which calls for fixing.
Actually I�m getting paranoid when it comes to mowing the two acres of dandelions and plantain which we call our lawn. I just KNOW the devious mower is waiting to inflict its diabolical worst on me. That�s assuming that it starts, of course. Sometimes I think the danged device is almost human, lulling me into complacency, and then breaking down when I least expect it.
I suppose I shouldn�t let it bother me. It�s not worth going to the psychiatrist�s couch over � but it sure rankles me.
On the other hand, Phyllis seems to handle it better than I do. She doesn�t fume, which I am prone to do. When she can�t fix it herself, she knows whom to call when something goes amiss. I just stand there, getting angrier and angrier.
It doesn�t just happen to me with those demonic riding mowers either. The push kind also go bad on me. And they come with rope-starters, too. I pull and pull with narry a whimper from the motor.
Incidentally, the guy who invented them should be hanged in effigy with one of his ropes � but that�s another story.
No matter what type of mower I use, though, I guess I can always count on it to fail me when I need it most.
I may just have to learn to say @#!!*&% after all!
� 2003 Robert F. Karolevitz