Keeping up with the Jones'

I mowed the lawn tonight.  To some this is a sense of pride; a nicely manicured lawn to show off to the neighborhood.  To others it is a chance to relax, to commune with their piece of nature.  To yet others, it is merely another chore, something that is mundane, akin to taking out the trash or clipping your toenails.

To me, though, mowing the lawn is close to torture.

I have horrible allergies.  I've had them since I was a kid.  One of my worst allergies is to grass pollen.  (My most worst allergy ever of all time is to cats.)  Ever since I was old enough to operate a Toro, I've been sneezing and itching and cursing.  To this day, each time I mow the lawn, I pop an allergy pill prior to going out, and when I'm done, I need to wash my face and change my clothes.  If I fail to do this, I puff up, get snotty, and occasionally need to go to the hospital.

When I was 13, I went on a mission trip to West Virginia.  We were working with a daycare facility, cleaning and painting.  I remember burning an outhouse that we tore down, but that is another story for another day.  One of the workers mowed a large field, and I ran through it.  Long story short, I ended up with my eyes swollen shut and my youth director driving what felt like 70 miles an hour up and down mountain roads.

Tonight, though, I mowed the lawn.  This isn't a job that I pawn off on others.  I feel it is my responsibility as a homeowner to do it.  I also feel it is my duty as a spouse.  Ultimately, I feel it is my duty as (I would say "man," but that would be misogynistic) an adult to do something that is beneficiary yet unpleasant: sometimes you just have to do things that you don't like to do.  Mowing the lawn is that thing for me.