Grass—from all the angles

With the snow done for this season (I hope), can the grass be far behind?
The whole topic of lawn care has been raising its ugly head at the debating table at the Bakery in Drizzle Creek this past week.
“I was pricing riding mowers this past month,” explained Frank, whose dicey ticker has made his wife really nervous whenever he undertakes any strenuous physical activity.
“And do you know, they’re nearly twice as much in Fat Frantic as they are in Bunyanville,” he added authoritatively.
“Course, I didn’t buy anything. Just snooping around. But I need something with a little more power to chew up all those willow branches. Sure would beat raking.
“But I also need something with good gas mileage and a road gear, so I can ride it down to coffee,” he added as he again turned on his hearing aids.
This was the signal for all to respond to his ramblings as talking to Frank when he’s tuned out and turned off is as effective as talking to a post.
“I definitely have been spending too much time cutting grass the past years, so I’m going with a triple deck rig this year,” offered Scrounger as he picked up the jelly doughnut his young lad had dropped on the floor, flicked off a bit of debris, shrugged his shoulders, and inhaled the balance of it.
“You mean you’re going to spring for a new outfit. They’re expensive!” snorted Pickle as the shock hit him and he choked on his coffee (Pickle and Scrounger have an ongoing competition to reign as the “King of Cheap” in Drizzle Creek).
“Don’t be ridiculous! I’m building it myself,” retorted Scrounger, fixing Pickle with a withering glance at the suggestion of wild extravagance.
“Hey! Where’s the rest of my doughnut?” complained the young lad, searching the table, then the chair, and lastly the floor for the balance of his calories.
“Jack ate it. Get another one from Val,” stated Scrounger, not only setting me up as the villain but also figuring the angle for getting another half-doughnut.
The young lad fixed me with a glare of total distrust as he headed for the counter.
“I picked up a bunch of perfectly good mowers at the dump, swapped a few parts, tuned ’em up, and welded three of them together to form a 72-inch deck,” explained Scrounger, returning to the subject at hand.
“I’ll just tow ’em around with the four-wheeler.”
“With that lawn of yours? Why, it’s rougher than a Highway 11 and with just as many ruts and potholes! You’ll never be able to get an even cut,” expostulated Pickle, whose own lawn is immaculate thanks entirely to the efforts of his long-suffering wife.
“Oh no, this rig flexes so it can follow all the contours,” offered Scrounger as he eyed the young lad’s replacement doughnut.
“I was going to level out those ruts, but figured if I just kept trimming, eventually I will get the ridges gnawed down.
“Shouldn’t take more’n 10 years or so.”
The young lad glared threateningly at me and moved his doughnut to what he thought was a position of safety. Whereupon, Scrounger (unobserved) scooped it up and took two giant bites—devouring the better half of it.
“Flexible? How do you make a flexible weld?” questioned Pickle, still in disbelief.
“Well, I didn’t actually make a permanent weld yet. I just hooked ’em all together with duct tape in case I have to make some adjustments,” stated Scrounger around the remains of the scarfed donut.
The young lad returned to his doughnut with a puzzled gaze at the shrinkage.
You know, the kid doesn’t appear to be gaining much weight but Scrounger’s sure fleshing out.

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