Despite my best efforts to decapitate them, the heads of the daisies just keep popping up in my back yard. I mowed the lawn the day before yesterday and yet they stick up like cowlicks on a comb-over. I wouldn’t mind so much if it were not for the fact that I like to play frisbee in my backyard and the last couple of times that I have had to dive for a catch I end up coming up with a handful of daisies that look nice enough to give to my mother on Mother’s Day.
However, Mother’s Day is past, frisbee season has only just begun.
So, obviously the lawn and I have come to a bit of an impass. I refuse to let the daisies grow, and the daisies refuse to die. It’s like a zombie apocalypse where a sawed-off shotgun and a chainsaw for a hand doesn’t seem to come in handy much.
So I’ve decided to let the lawn be for a couple days. I’m hoping it will be lulled into a false sense of security. Then, when it least expects it, I’ll go out with a tank of Round-Up and wipe them out in a style not dissimilar to that of the Death Star against Alderaan.
…Or Rebecca Black.
Anyway, to attempt to fill my insatiable urge for frisbee, I’ll have to find another place to play. The Turf is that place. Thanks to the generosity of a local affluent family, our high school has an astroturf football field. For those of you who don’t know what astroturf is, it’s essentially a giant carpet with the consistency of the most comfortable grass field imaginable. Under the fake grass is a layer of black rubber “dirt” that allows you to run faster, jump higher, and essentially everything else that PK Flyers let you to do.
It also makes the area above the field a good five to ten degrees hotter than the rest of town since the heat radiates off the black rubber. Thus everyone goes barefoot, shirtless, and for the bold; pants-less. The open area and the comfy ground allow for maximum catching freedom and has resulted in snags so miraculous that Jesus himself has been known to come down, kick off his sandals and join in the fun.
So, fortunately, I will not be without frisbee for the couple of days I lie in wait like a panther ready to maul a daisy. The real question is, will my lawn miss me in the meantime? I suspect so. People miss me and I miss them when I’m gone, and while my lawn may not be a person, Michelle Flores is.