OK, so now I get the reason
all my neighbors own gas mowers
I'm thinking that I sweated (sweat? swote?) off maybe 15 pounds today mowing the front lawn. The back yard will just have to remain all wild and untended until the heat breaks, because my little green reel mower
loses much of its cuteness when viewed through eyes bleary and stinging from the drops of sunscreen-tinged sweat rolling down my forehead. I was wishing for a sweatband today for the first time in my life, and that's saying a lot because I made it through my entire teen-aged existence in the 80s with neither sweatband nor legwarmers
Our cat is endlessly fascinated when I go out to do yard work. He lolls about luxuriously on the window sill, stretched out to his considerably furry length, watching my every move through the window screen. I'm pretty sure I know what he's thinking. "Stupid, stupid
humans." And coming from a cat who has run, in a panic, straight into a wall and attempted (repeatedly) to hide himself behind a toilet, that's saying a lot.
Here I am, after mowing the lawn today (click to go bigger, if you dare):
a) here you see my super-ultra-mega-sunscreen melting off my face
b) here you see splotchy, smudgy marks where my sunglasses rubbed a lovely raw patch
c) here you see me mouth-breathing, like an overweight Saint Bernard panting in the Sahara
d) here you see my crazed, blood-shot eyes
(Why, no! I haven't
ever had an internet stalker! Go figure. One of life's great mysteries, I guess.)
(edited to add: I just checked my referrer logs and discovered with wondrous serendipity that I am the #2 result on the WebMD search "underarm stink."
Just out of curiosity, I checked Google. #4