I still can’t grasp the correct way to mow a lawn. Approximately three of you (Michelle, Billy, and that one stalker in Omaha) may remember the last time I discussed this. Well, I haven’t gotten any better.
Once every six weeks or so, when I can no longer see the legs of my lawn chairs, I bust out Clip Murray. I LOVE to mow the grass, but I’m just not good at it. I cannot be good at all things.
So I was doin’ my thing, “mowing” the “lawn,” since it was my “day” “off,” and I couldn’t help but glance at Constable’s empty garden spot every, oh, sixteen seconds or so. This was just one small contributing factor to my substandard technique, and if you look at the diagram below, you’ll see exactly how I tackle mowing. It includes a handy route a la Family Circus comics and explains certain tactics I employ such as throwing bits of trash in front of the mower to see if it actually cuts things (and if it does, then why isn’t it cutting the grass?), or tackling the lawn with a pattern that resembles the street layout of downtown Carrboro.
Like I said, I love the process of mowing, but once I get started, I welcome most anything that will allow me to abandon my efforts. So when the mailman rolled up to the house with, you guessed, it, a manila envelope, the mowing was over and Clip Murray was left in the middle of the grass to wait for the next available male to take over what I had hardly started.
I will admit this was starting to get quite fun. I was beginning to accept the fact that Constable may know what he’s doing. There was no note this time; only pictures. Seems Constable had tried to catch Jedd Evan and me at our respective jobs, as evidenced by the following pictures:
This is Bageltopia, where Jedd Evan spends most of his week. You can read more about Bageltopia by clicking on the link in the preceding sentence, which will bring you to a blog I wrote before I was boyfriend-and-girlfriend with Jedd Evan and I was only just his new roommate who sat at his workplace and stared weirdly at his fabulous hair for hours on end. He’s not creeped out by this, and I still don’t know why. Anyway, Bageltopia is clearly closed in this picture, but we cannot hold Constable accountable for not knowing our work schedules.
It appears the bar is also closed. I am there a lot, so it surprises me that I didn’t catch him. He even tried looking in the window, but the view from the 4” square hole affords only a really good glimpse of the paint-chipped staircase leading up to the bar proper.
Perhaps if he would have stuck around, I’d have eventually shown up at work, but since he traveled four miles between Bageltopia and Zog’s in just one day, something tells me he’s still on the move. . .