Entry 24:

The place was beginning to reek again, so I went to the dollar store (yay!) to look for one of those air freshener thingies. They had those ones shaped like pine trees, which is fine if you like pine (hey that rhymes). I took one up to the till and slapped it on the counter.

"Hey, d'you have these in the scent of freshly mowed grass?" I asked.
The cashier looked at me for a moment, then he must have realized who I was.
"Oh, it's you," he said (see). "No, pine is all we've got. There are some candles that smell like fresh air down that aisle."
Fresh air? What a novel idea! It's like, everywhere. So I put the pine scented bit of cardboard back and happened upon an idea. Yep, you gotta watch out when Crazy Guy get's one of those.

It took some convincing before the folks down at the clinic would restore my lawn-mower operation privileges, considering what happened last time I used one. But, as they saw I was serious and not just spouting medication-induced fancies, they gave me a form to fill out, and will be sending me a new crazy-card with an addendum that says: "Permitted to operate lawn-mowers no closer than 12 feet from the nearest bystander." They gave me a temporary card made out of cardboard to use until the plastic one arrives in the mail. Score!

Now, my lawn hasn't been mowed, period. I've too much pride to hire some young lad to do it for me, heck, I'm a young lad. So needless to say, I don't have a lawn so much as a vast tangled jungle as high as my knees. All manner of things are probably lurking in it, such as several delivered newspapers I can't account for, the odd stray ball or frisbee, maybe even a lost dog or two.

I fancy that even my tiny plug-in lawn mower was daunted by the task ahead of it, but there was nothing for it. I plugged it in, turned it on, and ploughed into the mass. The thing shuddered violently, coughed ahead for a few metres, then became tangled in a particularly thick patch of grass and there it stuck. Wiping my brow, I unplugged it and took a look at my progress. The path I had blazed looked more traumatized than tidy, but there was more than enough freshly mangled grass for my purposes, so I filled a garbage bag and hauled it inside. My living-room no longer stinks of old pizza and socks, but of overpowering lawn clippings. Now I know why they don't make air-fresheners in that scent.


First Entry Previous Entry