Dear Neighbor With The Weedwhacker, August Edition.

I bet you laughed when my mower died and I had to finish the lawn with my trimmer.

Did you laugh when the yellow jacket got in my shoe and I smashed it as it stung me? I didn't. I had visions of having to find my way out of Antarctica with an unconscious FBI agent and a serious case of frostbite.



MM525, RIP. I have never written better than when I mowed with you. The Black and Decker designer of your power handle ought to be thrown under a properly functioning version of you, because if not for the cheesy plastic, you would still be here with me.

Dear Neighbor With The Weedwhacker, August Edition.