Dirty Girl

I am one giant sweat ball. It's hot, humid, and buggy, but when I got up I couldn't take it any more - the edges of the sidewalk looked like high tide, and the tree rings were being swallowed by the lawn's amber-green waves of grass. Now, three hours of weed whacking later, at least the sidewalk is visible. My legs are covered with flecks of dirt and mulch, my face is streaked with salty mud, and my hands ache.

I love it.

About halfway through, when I was just getting to the finishing stroke (streetside), a lawn guy truck pulled up across the way. He opened his door. I glanced at him, then away, and turned my back, rehearsing what I'd say if he solicited his professional service.

"I could do that for you." he'd say.

"I'm almost done."

"Next time, then."

I'd give him a long look. "Do you use gas or electric equipment?"

"Well, gas but -"

"I prefer not to pollute the air." I'd pull a weed by hand to prove my point. "Oh, and I'd want you to do it for free."

"Excuse me?" he'd say (people are very polite around here). "Well, not free, of course. We usually charge $125 for this much edging, but I'm sure we can cut you a br -"

"Free," I'd say. "Because that's what it costs me."

"Your time is worth something, isn't it?"

"Of course. It's worth a lot. But it evens out."

"What evens out?"

"Well ..." I'd wipe my brow and look him straight in the eye. "I'm a tutor, so I actually charge more than you do for an hour of my time."

"See?"

"More than you do, I think. This took me two hours. That's two hours I'm not sitting on my butt watching TV. See, I've lost over 80 pounds in the last couple of years, and if I gain it back it would cost a fortune." I'd lean on the weed whacker. "A gym membership costs money - this is great exercise and actually accomplishes something. Do you know how many people I know who hire you guys then pay for Pilates and stair stepping?" Swipe stinging eyes on shoulder. "My allergies are blown away when I fight them head-on out here, too, so no more meds. And, by the way," a glance from beneath my brows, "type 2 diabetes and heart attacks and strokes don't just cost me money, but you, too, so really you should thank me for doing the work myself. I'm saving you a fortune in higher insurance rates."

"Uh ... but ..." He'd shrug and grin. "You have a point."

"Of course I do. We're both in tough businesses right now, huh?"

"Yep. But we'll both get through it." And he'd drive off, knowing there are still plenty of others, even in my neighborhood, who don't like to get dirty.

But he didn't ask, and I didn't pontificate (and that's not a bad thing). Instead, he sat under a tree across the street, taking what looked like a well-deserved break, and I finished the whacking, push-broomed the sidewalk, and bagged the weed-heads before coming in for scambled eggs, grapefruit, and a quick blog.

Time to run. The mower is calling - and I'm a bit too clean for my peace of mind.