The Lawn Fairy

I was supposed to go to a movie on Sunday afternoon with some angel friends, but I backed out at the last minute because the lawn needed mowing. It was a chick flick and I was just not up to sitting through all the weeping that invariably occurs when a group of women watch these cinematic tear jerkers. I may be queer, but I'm still a man. Shut up. I am too!

Anyhow, I stayed home and mowed the lawn. I have a Cub Cadet 60 inch zero turn with a 28 hp Kohler engine. The model name is "The Tank" and that pretty much describes it. Lest you think I'm over compensating for other short comings, I need this mower for my lawn. It takes almost three hours to mow all six acres.

So anyway, I am coming up out of the bar ditch on the mower yesterday afternoon. I leaned forward and then back as the ground leveled. In the intervening seconds, a honey bee came between my back and the seat back. It firmly planted it's stinger in a place I cannot easily reach right through my Under Armor polyester t-shirt. I came flying off that mower like a bat out of the 9th circle of hell. Arms were flayling around as I danced across my half mowed front lawn. Cars on the street were slowing down to watch as I did the bee sting dance. I'm sure everyone enjoyed the lawn fairy spectacle I was putting on.

I love their honey, but I hate honey bees. They always leave their stinger and a good dose of venom. I now have a bright red mark in the middle of my back. It kind of itches today, but yesterday it was like someone stuck me with a pen knife.

I spend a lot of time trying to cultivate an image of the country gentleman doing his chores. Yesterday all my efforts went down the tubes. Turns out I'm just a lawn fairy.  

(The term "Lawn Fairy" was borrowed for today's post from Dean Samuels at YOB)