Making the Cut (1)
This summer I discovered my inner warrior and unleashed an all-out war. No, I didn’t get in touch with the ex. No, I didn’t trample small children while searching for Pokémon (seriously people, get a grip). I finally, after living in my house for an entire year and ignoring it, took on the jungle that my back garden had become. I bought a strimmer and a lawnmower. I bought secateurs and gardening gloves. I bought a 30m extension cable. And I didn’t have the slightest clue what to do with it all.
Ready to ‘man-up’ and compensate for the lack of a (human) male in the household, I refused to conform to the female stereotype of being unable to do this myself: “I am strong; I am capable; I will not be emasculated by grass.” I began by staring bemusedly at the surprisingly tiny lawnmower box wondering how on earth a mower folded up that small. And then it dawned on me that I might actually have to assemble it myself. Not only was I taking on the wilderness outside, I was also going to have to do some DIY… I was skipping ‘Masculinity 101’ and heading straight for the Intermediate course. This called for a couple of beers and an evening on the sofa in order to ready myself. I had begun my initiation into manhood pretty accurately, I thought.
The next morning, only slightly groggy, I poked my head out from under the duvet to check the weather forecast on my phone. Though it had been sunny for several days (prompting the need to sort the garden), rain was on the horizon, and whilst I was ready to wield some hard-core machinery (no, that isn’t an exaggeration), I was not yet ready to risk electrocution. The rain was due to arrive at 11am. It was 08:30. The garden is relatively small; I had plenty of time.
I opened the box. It took less than 5 minutes to assemble the strimmer. I had become Zeus: Man of all Men, God of all Gods. I was capable of achieving anything with my new-found enthusiasm for weapons of grass-destruction. I temporarily fought my burgeoning masculine instincts and decided to actually read the instructions for building the lawnmower. Yes, I know, reading instructions, how very unmanly. But I just couldn’t help myself. Sadly they consisted only of pictures, and pictures that appeared to have been drawn by a 4 year old, which consequently bore no relation (insomuch as I could tell) to the lawnmower itself.
To say I lost the plot is probably an understatement. Nowhere – NOWHERE – on the redundant instruction booklet, did it mention that this was a two-person job. Yet, I was expected to juggle a reasonably heavy, and very awkwardly shaped, lawnmower handle one-handed whilst aligning it with the appropriate holes on the mower and simultaneously manoeuvring a screw and washer through said holes in order to secure it. This was a feat worthy of the Krypton Factor. But, after half an hour of wrestling with both metal and my sanity, I finally stood victorious. I had won the battle, but the real war was about to commence…