“At least they’re green,” I said. “And even though they aren’t grass, when I cut them they look nice in a grassy sort of way. But I would like a better yard if I can handle the cost.”
He smirked and said. “But they’re weeds. No self-respecting homeowner wants a yard with weeds.” I knew my lawn logic would only go so far with a pro landscaper like this.
Pulling out his smartphone, one of which I couldn’t afford either, he tapped away, sounding like fifty cent granules of high dollar fertilizer falling wastefully on a sidewalk, and said, “Here’s what we can do … ”
I looked at the figure and felt like I was choking on one of the wild onions glaring at me from the lawn, well … weeds.
Raising my eyebrows, I looked the guy in the face. His expression was a combination of self-satisfied knowledge and I’m going to take a nice vacation after this job.
“I don’t think I can handle that amount. What could you do for about half that? I really want to take a vacation myself this year.”
He tipped the green cap back on his balding head and wiped sweat from his eyes with a dirty handkerchief. I thought, with prices like that he could certainly afford clean handkerchiefs every hour on the hour.
“Mister,” he began, “Your lawn is something everyone looks at, and when they see what I am looking at right now, well … what do you think they are thinking about you?”
I wanted to mouth Scarlet’s famous line about not giving a damn but held back out of courtesy.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead with my clean hanky. “It’s like this,” I said. “To me a lawn is no big thing. I’ll definitely take care of it properly one day. But for right now, weeds are better than dirt.”