It has been very dry and very warm this summer. As a result, I haven't done a lot of mowing of the lawn, because it hasn't needed it. Particularly the back yard, which already plays second fiddle to the front.

Recently though, the back yard has been in bad shape. It needed to be cut. Even the vole, who has been quiet for several weeks (and hasn't left me a note since May 11th), left me a note on my car that said "Say man, that backyard? You need to cut that sh%#."

So I went out after work to take care of it. I was doing pretty poorly with the step count today anyway, so I figured mowing would help. I wheel the mower out to the front, and I give the starting cord pull thing a tug to start the mower. As usual, my trusty Toro started on the first try. The unusual part, however, was that the cord remained in my hand. Yes, the pull cord broke. So there I was, hand on the dead man's switch, with the mower running. I knew that if it stopped, I wouldn't be able to start it again.

I stood there, terrified that my hand would slip, or that the mower would run out of gas. I had horrible thoughts of being stuck with a half-mowed lawn and a mower I can't start. So I did the only thing I could. I mowed. I mowed the back yard. Then the front. Scared of stopping, I mowed my way up by the open front door.

As I mowed past the door, I yelled, "Wife! I need your help!"

She came running to the door. "What's the matter?!"

Still mowing, "I can't stop the mower!"

"WHAT?"

"I CAN'T STOP THE MOWER, THE PULL CORD TO START IT BROKE. IF I STOP IT, I WON'T BE ABLE TO START IT AGAIN!"

"STOP WALKING FOR A MINUTE! STANDING STILL WON'T MAKE THE MOWER TURN OFF."

Oh yeah. She's right. I stop walking. "I NEED THE GAS CAN FROM THE GARAGE, BUT I DON'T WANT TO BRING THE RUNNING MOWER IN THERE."

"YOU'VE MOWED THE ENTIRE LAWN. WHY DO YOU NEED MORE GAS?"

"I TOLD YOU, THE MOWER CAN'T STOP, BECAUSE THEN WE CAN'T START IT. I'M GOING TO KEEP MOWING UNTIL I HAVE A PLAN TO GET IT FIXED. I WAS THINKING THAT--"

"I'M GOING BACK INSIDE NOW," she said.

Carefully, I kept one hand on the switch while adjusting each of the wheel heights, lowering the mower (kids, do not try this at home). I went back to the backyard, and started over. It was like the movie Speed, except take away the flying bus, lame ass plot, and Keanu Reeves, and add a hot, married, tech support guy who loves his lawn. I knew that the moment I stopped, the mower would be officially broken.

I got about five minutes in when the mosquitoes came out. There was one SOB that kept buzzing around my head. I carefully watched him, then CLAP. Got him, the little bastard. As quickly as I reacted to get the bug, I realized that I let go of the dead man's switch. The mower stopped, seemingly in slow motion. A single tear rolled down my cheek.

As I sit writing this now, my mower is sitting in the garage, unable to be started. It's like a car with no engine. A computer with no electricity. A TV with no picture tube. It's a sad day in the life of me.