I tried to mow the lawn this evening, unsuccessfully. I like mowing the lawn; I like the exercise, and I assume I would like the feeling of accomplishment. I've never gotten that feeling. Something always happens, and I have to go running to my husband or some other nearby, or in one case a not-so-nearby male. FACT: I don't know how lawnmovers work. FACT: I don't care. I just hate feeling like a dainty, little girl trying to be all grown up and failing at a simple task. It doesn't help that I usually get a condescending speech about my simple mistake that resulted in the failure of the day. He doesn't mean to be come across that way, and he probably doesn't, but that is how I interpret it.
Long story short, I get myself all worked up about something and then, "like a woman," the waterworks start to flow. This further reinforces my feelings.
At this point I feel like it almost isn't worth the headache. Then I look down at my HRM and see that I burned 560 in 90 minutes and I feel a little better. Oh, and maybe we should mow the lawn more than once a month in the middle of summer.
