It’s grass pollen season here in buttfuck nowhere. Which is ugly enough on its own. It’s even uglier when it comes time to cut the grass.
If that were the only health hazard of cutting the grass, I’d find a way to deal with it and power through it. A face mask would help a lot with that problem.
Unfortunately, it isn’t that simple.
Every fucking time I cut the grass, I wind up with injuries. Big, ugly surface wounds.
The weedeater has given me blisters.
I’ve gotten stung or bitten by bugs while cutting the grass. Big patch of bites/stings and scratches from something getting under my leg as I rode the lawnmower.
This week’s injury tally from cutting the grass? Some small bruises from getting hit by flying debris while I was trying to hold some tree branches out of Sunshine’s way as he rode the lawnmower.
And a not-insignificant patch of missing skin on my buttcheek.
Don’t ask me how it got there. I couldn’t fucking tell you. Sunshine says it is probably from debris falling down into my pants while I was sitting on the lawnmower.
More like sandpaper.
I have a patch of boo-boo on my bootybuttcheek.
I didn’t really notice it as I cut the grass. I just figured it was more of the grass clippings that were flying everywhere, sticking to my face and getting inside my shirt sleeves and down my boot shafts. Until I got in the shower and the water hit my bootybuttcheek and I thought somebody set half of my ass on fire.
When I got out, I had Sunshine look at it to see if it was a bite/sting or what. He claimed he couldn’t see anything. Blind ass motherfucker. He swabbed some cortisone cream on me, which made it feel like somebody had set my ass on fire again. I cried like a baby, slinging snot all over the magic bus.
The next morning, I took a peek at my bootybuttcheek in the mirror. There was a large red patch of ouch there that nobody could possibly miss unless he is a blind ass motherfucker like Sunshine. I had him put more cortisone cream on it, which hurt like hell and made me cry a little.
My bootybuttcheek hurts this morning. It feels like somebody took sandpaper to a half scabbed over burn and opened bits of it up again.
I suppose that the next time I cut the grass, I should consider a full body protective suit.