Sundays are the worst. The sun rises, the car backs out of the garage, and I know its that time of week. Its July 13th, 2014, 93 degrees and not a cloud in the sky. I’m rolled down the drive way and onto the thick, tall grass. Old Jim starts unscrewing my cap and pours in the burning, awful smelling liquid that makes me go. He screws the cap back on and the routine has started. He gives one big yank to my side and pulls my rope. I’ve never failed Jim and I cant fail him today. I start to spin my blade and grass is going everywhere. I can hardly breathe and my stomach is being filled with bitter, green blades. Everything is great until Jim drives me right over a big stick that takes a chunk out of my blade. Old Jim starts right away and takes me to the hospital. The doctors start unscrewing my nuts and bolts and in no time I’ve got a new blade, pain free. Jim put me in the back of his truck and back home we went. Me and Jim finished the job and back in the garage I go. Another day is in the books and to say the least I cant wait for winter. Til next week Jim!