I finally had to admit my old lawn mower was beyond even what duct tape, wire and gorilla glue could help, so I headed to the store for a replacement.
Emblazoned across the front and back of the 22” cut green beast, in bright yellow, appears its name: The Weed Eater. And all I could think of while cutting grass this morning was “I am the Weed Eater; where is the Key Master?”
As I cut along the edge of my property, my nearest neighbor had a different thought: “I am the horse; where is my apple?”
I rolled the mower back to the shed, accosted by Shanti: “I am your dog; why is the horse getting treats?”
As I opened my front door to get to indoor work, my cats greeted me with, “We are the cats; where is our lunch?”
The portal has been opened.