I just mowed the lawn. Don’t tell anyone.
Not only do I not mind mowing the lawn, but I kind of like it. Our lawn takes about 45 minutes, so it’s kind of a workout. I work up a little sweat, get to be outside, and when I’m done, I am pretty pleased with myself. I find the neat green rows to be very satisfying.
I don’t usually mow our lawn. Dave does, but he’s out of town. He tells me it’s for work, but he’s in Lake Tahoe over a weekend, so I’m just a little skeptical.
And today, the lawn mower ran out of gas, and we didn’t have any left in the gas can. I did play the girl card a little bit at the gas station when I asked for help filling it up (but keep in mind, we live in New Jersey, where we have good pizza but the law says we can’t touch the gas pump).
There was something empowering about doing something I don’t usually do and that’s often stereotypically reserved for men to handle.
But on the other hand, I feel a little weird about it, because we live in a town where a good percentage of the residents hire a landscaper to mow their lawns. We don’t, because it’s a task Dave kind of enjoys. But sadly, I often wonder if people judge us for mowing our own lawn.
I realize how ridiculous that sounds. I wish I didn’t feel that way, and I like to chalk it up to whatever small scraps of adolescent insecurity remain in my more or less fully-developed adult self. I think that most of us have certain things that we still worry that people are judging us for, whether that be our intelligence, our looks, or the choices we make.
As we get older, I think a lot of that stuff fades, and we realize that if who we are is okay with us, then it’ll be okay for the people who matter, and anyone who doesn’t like us this way shouldn’t be someone who matters to us.
So there, I said it. I mowed the lawn this morning. Judge away.