Apparently mowing the weeds was the most exciting thing that has happened to me in days because I have more to say on the topic. Stand back.

So, yesterday, I go into the backyard to mow the weeds, which should take all of 4 minutes with our tiny lawn. As soon as I get the lawnmower fired up, our neighbor pops her head over the fence and asks if I can hold off mowing the lawn for 10 minutes. She explains that they're about to hold a tree-planting ceremony for their infant son.

It's times like these when I realize that I have little in common with these other hu-man things that populate our planet. But, these neighbors are darn nice folks, so I refrained from asking why the child or the tree required a ceremony. I'm a guy who got married in Vegas, so I think it's safe to say that I'm not an expert on ceremony.

(When I told one of my co-workers this story, he replied with "A tree planting ceremony? That's nice. What did they give birth to, a squirrel?")

So, I puttered around the yard for the next 15 minutes, waiting for the arbor gods to bless their kid, when the next logical thing happened. It started to pour. I can only assume that this is how Mother Nature responds to rituals like this. It's probably more of a blessing than a curse, but I'm steering clear of the kid for a while regardless.

I had, however, mentally committed myself to mowing the damn lawn. It had been 4 or 5 months since I last mowed and I was not going to let a simple downpour stop me.

So, here's where it gets stupid. Not only am I standing in the pouring rain, attempting to mow weeds, but I'm using an electric mower. I have a 50 foot extension cord running from the living room, onto the deck, down the stairs, through the wet lawn, ending in my lawnmower plug, a couple inches from my hands. This is the gardening equivalent of making toast while bathing.

I wish for this blog's sake, that this blog entry ended with a hilarious electrocution. Maybe a lightning bolt comes down, striking the newly-planted tree and me in one fell punchline-generating swoop. They say that tragedy plus distance equals humor. Sadly, for you all, this does not occur. Instead, I completed mowing the oxalis without humorous injury. *sniff*

The injuries nearly happened later that day, but it was my psyche in danger this time. I had to go buy feminine hygiene products for the wife. The differences between these items is tragically unclear. What's bigger, super or maxi? Are wings important? Which of these will restore my masculinity?

Thankfully the wife had given me detailed instructions and I made it out alive. That's two close calls in one day.

I didn't leave the house all day today.