It’s your typical story: man works his ass off, gets married, has a few kids, dies and eventually the kids want nothing to do with the parents or their estate. I’m not talking about me, I’m talking about this semi-crazy older lady that I worked for today. You see, my Dad is on the way to becoming a contractor, or at least a handy-man, and today he asked me if I’d help him out a little. I said sure figuring I would do some light repairs, maybe paint something, stuff like that. I was wrong. Today, I got to mow the grass. Not just someone’s back yard mind you, I cut “their property.” As in “these are the 20 acres of land I own, now please give it a trim.” Sure, 20 acres is a bit of an exageration, but I most certainly cut the equivelant of Fenway park. I kid you not. It took 5 hours and 3 tanks of gas in the mower. My hands hurt so much from the stupid lawn mower that I can’t even make a fist. I’m actually typing this very very slowly with only a few fingers. It was the second most tiring activity I’ve ever been engaged in. A very close second to moving my apartment last month. At least today it wasn’t 100 degrees. It was only a brisk 90. And the humidity wasn’t anywhere near 100%, it was much closer to 80. So, as you can see, I’m a bit on the tired side. I think I’ll go take a nap.