So, um, hypothetically speaking, what would you do if the lawnmower spewed what appeared to be oil from what appeared to be the carburetor shortly before emitting what appeared to be blue smoke with a definite strong odor?
a) Immediately turn the lawnmower off and wait for your husband to get home from work so that he can take care of it.
b) Run screaming for the hills out of fear that the danged machine is about to blow up and take your face with it.
c) Turn it off, roll it over to the far edge of your property near the woods so that your neighbors can’t see (or smell) that you’re about to start up a lawnmower that moments before spewed oil and blue smoke and let it run for a few moments until the smoke clears.
If it were me, I’d chose c. And I did. And I managed to mow half of the lawn before the mower finally gave up the ghost. Well, I hope it didn’t really give up the ghost because that would mean that we would have to buy a new one and we just went on a strict budget that I really don’t want to bust on the second day of the month.
Hoping against hope, I checked the oil (Yes, I did. I really did), wiped off the dipstick, stuck it back in, pulled it back out and all. It said it was fine.
Figuring (really hoping) that I was simply out of gas, I peeked into the tank. While it wasn’t full, I don’t think it could have technically been defined as empty either. But what do I know about lawnmowers? Not much. Actually, nothing. Other than that they cut grass and can shear the top off of your sewer vent if you’re not careful.
So, I lugged the gas can from the shed and filled…her…him…up. But after furtively trying to get it started by pulling the starter cord fifteen thousand times, nothing happened. All I got for my efforts was a stiff neck. The revenge of the lawnmower.
So what did I do? I rolled the lawnmower around to the front porch and put her/him next to the front door, so that WMD would be sure to see it when he came traipsing home from work. Not that he would know why it was there, but I thought it would be a nice “Welcome home, honey!” (He hates the word honey used as a term of endearment. I think it comes from one of his five thousand ex-girlfriends.) A lawnmower on the front porch can only mean that something is wrong, very wrong. Or that we’re too lazy to put it away. Either one. Which one do you think he hedged his bets on?
Should I tell him that I think its issues are a result of me putting the lawnmower in the shed after the last time I mowed at a (slight) angle, so that the oil started to (slightly ) leak out through the thing that appears to be the carburetor? (I really have no idea what it is, but that sounds like I do.) Or should I just let him figure it out, hoping that it’s not my fault and it’s just old and needs replaced? (That’s Southern speak for all of my Northern friends.)
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