We are within a week now of closing on our first house, which has my wife all a-titter and has left myself a bumbling worrywort.
Yesterday, my father took me to buy my first lawnmower. Not only was I impressed with the changes to mower technology in the last ten years (when I left my lawn-cutting responsibilities for school, giving the folks’ lawn the bird on the way out). While purchasing it, my father asked me if I had any questions for the sales rep, and I didn’t at first, because I’m an apartment dweller and I don’t care.
Then, slowly, I asked where the primer was, next what it ran on, then a cacaphony of related questions came from that as the memories of all those yards and all those different mowers that had previously been utilized by my person came flooding back. All of a sudden, I became a capital ‘H’ homeowner in my mind, because I can and will, at the drop of the hat, get off on telling you all about my new mower. I can’t get over that it is mine. My mower. It is red, like a sports car, and for some reason I want to always keep it that shiny. With 7 horses, baby! Whoa… there I went.
God help me, I’m more excited about my new mower than I am about new comics this week!
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