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Reason II as why it sucks to be single-Yard work

Jack and I were a team, we did everything together, housework, car and house repairs just to name a few. The one chore that was Jack's was the yard work. He loved to go out to his man shed which housed just about any tool you could think of. The shed had up to code electricity, a multipurpose radio and a fridge. I did have to put my foot down when he suggested we run cable to the shed so he could put in a flat screen. That shed was his place, it was where he went to think, to figure things out and to escape the craziness which is my family.

Well now I have to do the yard work. Standing in his shed trying to figure out which is the mixed gas and which is the straight gas and which one of his many toys takes which. My son is helping by doing the mowing. I get the job of cleaning up the perimeter which hasn't been touched since Jack died.

So, I suit up, socks, sneakers, long pants, long sleeved shirt (even though it is 80) , gloves and a baseball cap. This is my attempt to avoid ticks and the over abundant poison ivy plants that are overgrown totally covering the front rock wall. I am ready to do battle. I grab my trusty, weed whacker, and big ole heavy as hell tool to prune the trees.

I get the weed-whacker started after only 5 tries and my arms are already tired. Those things get heavy after a while. The weed whacker is running, I’m going in! I start on the weeds and all of a sudden, I am getting pelted in the face with all sorts of stuff. I don't know what kind of plant it was but all of a sudden, I get hit in the face with this big wet piece of pulp and more is coming.

Now I have to go into survival mode, this has to get done but I am tired of getting hit in the face with unknown projectiles. Have you ever tried to trim weeds while looking the other way? It is hard to describe but I would go in with the weed whacker while turning my body sideways so my face was not getting pelted with projectiles.

Eventually I made progress with the weed whacking chore. Now I have to prune some bushes and low hanging branches so we will be able to see pulling out of the driveway. Our house is right around a curve and all of this was blocking the view to the road. To get out of the driveway we would look, go oh crap and step on it.

So, I take my super-duper pruning tool and it goes good for about 10 minutes. The pruning tool starts to feel like it weighs 50 pounds, my face is stinging and I am still trying to figure out what that wet pulpy stuff is. I have had enough; how much unidentified projectiles is one woman expected to take.

I walk up to my son drop the tools at his feet and say next time, you handle the projectiles. I tell him I am going to ride around on the mower with a cold beer and a tank top just like the guys do. Hey, I say, I might even get me one of those cool hats with the beer holders and straw.

My son has decided he will do the yard work from now on. Who am I to argue.

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