“I’m going to send you a link to a listing,” Mike said. “Don’t freak out, just look.”
This is what we do these days: Look at house listings and daydream. At first glance, the one Mike sent struck me as a big tangle of weird. It was all angles, different siding on every wall, settled low on its foundation … or was there even a foundation? Maybe not. And purple trim. All in a big, overgrown yard.
“I don’t want a big yard,” I told him.
“I’ve been thinking about reprioritizing,” he said.
My lawn care workforce is currently on strike, but I think it’s going to be okay.
Saturday afternoon, I watched Colin struggle to adjust the line on the weed whacker for the hundredth time. Somehow he cannot master the art of gently tapping the thing against the ground just enough to get the line to feed out. Instead, he slams it with the force of a WWF wrestler, and jams it up. Every. Single. Time. Then he has to take the thing apart and put it back together.
He wouldn’t ask for help. He struggled with it for a while before proclaiming trimming an official pointless waste of time of which he’d have none, then moved on to mowing.
