lawnenfreude

My wife and I just got back from our evening walk. We live in a section of town that has a reputation as a well-to-do neighborhood. Indeed, there are quite a few large homes nearby. One of these homes has a monstrous lawn. It is obscene.

All summer this particular lawn has been a work in progress. In June there was the turning of the entire thing which made it a vast brown field. In July there was the seeding with that really nasty smelling sprayed-from-a-fire-hose seed which turned the field a shade of green that does not occur in nature. Then there was the constant sprinkling, and finally the mowing by a team of guys on lawn tractors.

Eventually I stopped looking at it as the sheer size of the thing makes me want to gag. Nobody ever uses it. There's never been a party featuring horseshoes or lawn darts or volleyball or badminton. In fact, I've not seen anyone save the lawn tractor operators so much as set a toe on The Lawn. It is nothing so much as a status symbol, an idol.

So because I will set my eyes on no vain thing, it fell to my wife to notice The Lawn tonight as we walked by.

I probably should have some sympathy for the guy. His financial, if not his physical, commitment to this lawn must be considerable. But instead, I felt... how can I describe it? Oh, I know: glee.

Every patch, every single blade of that beautiful unnatural grass is brown.



My apologies to any lawn nazis out there who are offended by this post. It was purely intentional.

Posted to:

• remarkable_stupidity