Ms. K's Surefire, Can't Miss Excuses for Not Mowing the Lawn

Which is to say that it is a fine day here in Knitingaleland, the sort of day which turns a young husband's fancy to thoughts of yard care while the wife's is more firmly entrenched in more fiber-y pursuits. I feel certain that I am not the only one with this problem and so, because I care so deeply for all of you, I have taken the time to provide this helpful list. So, without further ado (because heaven knows we have plenty of ado as it is), I cannot mow the lawn today because:

1. Recent intelligence has suggested that there are alien lifeforms among us, and that these lifeforms are here with the hope of stealing all the lawn mowers on the planet in order to create a sophisticated new weapon (with mulching capacity). Do we really want to risk having our mower out where it can be seen by these horrible creatures?

2. The treasury department has just announced that, due to the continuing devaluation of the dollar, we will soon being using lawngrass for currency. Mowing the lawn would just be shredding money into little bits.

3. Unbeknownst to anyone, I am a superhero charged with keeping the city safe from nefarious villains with weird names who wear underwear outside their clothing. The sound of the lawn mower would surely drown out any pleas for help that may come, to say nothing of the fact that my cape could get shredded in the blades. Do you want the demise of innocent citizens on your conscience? Or the tumbling to earth of a capeless superhero?

4. The rhubarb appears to have become sentient and may have armed itself. I fear that it would see the whirling blades of the mower as a declaration of war and then we'd all be doomed. No one should have to come face to leaf with an angry, knife-wielding rhubarb.

5. The interesting pattern on the socks I've been knitting actually contains--in code--the formula for cold fusion as well as a cure for male pattern baldness. If I don't keep working on it, I fear my brilliance will be lost to humanity, as will the hairiness of future generations. Angry, knife-wielding bald men are not much better than angry, knife-wielding rhubarb.

6. A band of leprechauns have approached me from the shamrock bed in the back yard with a cease and desist order. They are alleging hearing damage from the noise of the mower, as well as damage to property and some post traumatic stress disorder. They are threatening lawsuits. Need I say anything about the proclivities of angry leprechauns?

7. A courier came by yesterday with a proclamation stating that I am, in fact, the long lost queen of a little known country called Fnordia. It is strictly forbidden for their royalty to have any contact with grass, and the punishment is beheading. Surely a perfect lawn isn't worth anyone losing their head.

8. There are multiple colonies of mushrooms growing in the lawn that may or may not contain clouds of toxic spores which may, with exposure, turn either or both of us into mutants. Cool though some mutant powers might be, do you really think we should risk it? I know I don't want to suddenly become "the woman with snakes for legs" or something. And really, with my luck of late, it seems highly unlikely that I'd get something cool like flying or seeing through walls, or even turning vegetables into chocolate as my mutant power.

9. Today is the 13th day of the 7th lunar cycle of the 4th planet from the red star Marvatius. It is a day of terrible luck and looming disaster. Using sharp implements seems like a bad thing, under the circumstances.

10. The outdoor cats have determined that the vibrations of the mower are frightening to the mice and voles that they would like to disembowel so as to leave disgusting little bits in the garage (the better to watch me playing "mouse organ shuffleboard" with the long-handled broom). They have organized and assure me that they will not hesitate to hold me hostage if I even think of mowing the lawn. Worse--they're cats. You just know they'd torment and play with me for hours.

11. I recently traded three stuffed cows and a cookie-dough brownie for some magic beans, which I then tossed into the yard. Given that a beanstalk should be shooting out of there any day, and given that beanstalk is certain to lead us to gold and riches (we'll forget the giant for a minute here), do we really want to risk cutting the thing down?

12. As a child, I was viciously attacked by a rogue dandelion. Must I keep reliving the trauma?


I can almost guarantee that the use of any of these will keep you from lawn duty, at least until the 24 hour committment ends. And hey, you can get a lot of knitting done in 24 hours. You'll know how well it worked for me tomorrow, if I have a finished sock to show you or just a completely disbelieving husband and some rhubarb wounds.

Carry on. I'm off to attend to the people of Fnordia.