That’s It. We’re Suing.

A little over a year ago, we had some good friends who were moving out of town, selling their house and moving into an apartment for awhile. As their move coincided closely with the beginning of our first spring in our new house with a gloriously huge backyard, these friends were nice enough to donate, free of charge, their lawn mower to us.

Which was fantastic. And we used the lawn mower all last spring and summer and fall on our gloriously huge backyard and all this spring and… then the fucker broke down. Approximately ¾ of the way through the yard. Which, I might add, makes the yard look fantastically terrible.

Of course the Unsupportive Louse spent hours letting it cool and checking the oil and triple-checking the gas and unclogging the blades and re-priming the primer-y thingy and yanking on the cord-y start-y thingy. And nothing worked.

And of course there was all sorts of swearing and all sorts of “shits not made like it used to be” yells and “good money” curses thrown in to unintelligibly mumbled screams. Of course, it wasn’t OUR good money, but I’m sure SOMEONE paid good money for it.

When slightly calmer, the Unsupportive Louse decides that we should opt for a hand powered push mower in the future, rather than rely on machinery that’s bound to die or need repairs in no time at all, and being the environmentalist hippy that I am, I think this is a great plan.

The next day, he purchases our first hand mower. And painfully (oh so very painfully) puts the thing together. Because it seems hand mowers, like all of Santa’s best toys, don’t come assembled. Once we’re happily back in the land of cursing and yelling, the damn thing is pulled and dragged and kicked and manhandled into the backyard to finish off that last crappy looking bit that now has massive dandelions that are actually bold enough to laugh out loud at the new mower…and with good reason.

The thing blew. Some spots The Unsupportive Louse went over a dozen times before it looked vaguely trimmed. And even then, the dandelions would simply pop back up and spit in his eye before spewing their seeds across the rest of the lawn.

So it gets thrown into the back of the very manly cruck and driven right back to the store (possibly with a few corners taken a few miles too fast just to teach the damn thing a lesson) and returned. With no replacement purchased. I refrain from asking any questions.

But the grass is growing fast this rainy season and I can’t stay too quiet for too long. And my very own little old lady of a mother used a hand mower for years while she lived all alone and lonely after we’d all deserted her in California. They can’t all be terrible. So back the cruck goes to a different hardware store and home comes a new hand mower, assembly required.

Yelling, screaming, cursing ensues, lawn mowing is attempted…and you guessed it, the lawn wins again.

And so now we must discuss what our plans are, because clearly we (and by we, I mean he) cannot purchase, assemble, and return a hand mower EVERY week for the rest of the summer.

We’ve come to a decision. We’ve decided to sue the friends who gave us the lawn mower that broke down in the first place. After all, this pain and suffering and loss of valuable family time and gas money and mental anguish is truly their fault for giving us, free of charge, such a shoddy lawn mower in the first place. I think this is a fair and reasonable decision. (And as an added bonus, will place us firmly back in the sphere of “Californians” rather than “Midwesterners” which we’d really prefer not to be considered, 'cause, dude, they're weird.)

So – you know who you are. The next time your doorbell rings? You’ve been served. And it serves you right.