Granny's got a brand new ride

After being married for a zillion years, I finally goofed and learned to do something that I'd avoided for years by professing ignorance (easier done than said). 

I've also practiced wedded faithfulness. 

But that can only work for so long.  

I learned to mow the grass. 

I've fallen in love with Mr. John Deere.

Yessiree.  Green and yellow make me tingly all over.

We've got a very hilly acre or so to mow.  That means, dang it, that there are slopey, hilly dirt things outside in the yard that are just covered with grass.   On a riding mower, you can have more fun with them than you can on the Wild Mouse at the fair, and when you fall off, the hospital is much closer.  And you don't have to fill in an incident report or worry about suing the fairgrounds.   Much less complicated.

I can have all the fun of the outdoors just, well, outdoors.  Even without liquor and guns.

And provide great entertainment for my sweetie as I run laps here and there giggling and screaming.  Giggling when I get up some downhill speed and screaming when I get some tilty action.  That's so much better than, say,  cleaning toilets because my sweetie doesn't find watching me do that demonstrates any entertainment value.  But if he'd watch closer he might get some educational value out of it, if you catch my drift.

A kid on a go cart could have even more fun.  Heywaitaminute, maybe I shouldn't say that because it might give the grandkids some ideas.  

Lemme think about that for a minute.  Excuse me.

Okay.  I'm back.  The go cart idea is a great one and I can write about it because the grandkids aren't old enough to read yet.  Or at least they don't have internet privileges yet.  

Okay, the scent of gasoline is out of my nostrils.  Time to go spritz with some estrogen and Chanel and turn back into a southern lady.  Maybe that Title needs to be in Caps.  

Southern Lady.  

Gracious,  using caps looks so much more genteel and prissy, doncha think?

Mimi

Southern Lady.  Yeah. Right.