A Kind of Capitulation

I acquired a weed eater today, which I guess, therefore, completes my transition from new-wave hippie punk to bourgeois middle-class homeowner. It’s been a long time coming, though probably inevitable.

I’ve never seen myself as a person who would own a weed eater; it’s always seemed just one step away from a motorhome. One day you’re in your yard, slicing the heads off dandelions with a power tool, the next you’re driving down the highway eating a braunschwager sandwich behind the wheel of a Winnebago.

For a while, I tried to get by with hand clippers; while this may have given me the moral high ground, it also resulted in our being the house on the block with the ugly scary lawn.

But at least I didn’t buy it. My neighbor “graduated” from his electric plug-in model to the full testosterone level gas-powered type; he put the old one out on the parking strip for the taking. At first, I resisted, but when I awoke today, it was still sitting out there, so I took it as a sign and snagged the thing.

This has, of course, required some real soul-searching; the challenge for me is to be a weed eater owner without adopting a full weed eater owner mentality—which is, I would say, characterized primarily by an undue appreciation for a nicely-edged lawn.

Of course, I’m only kidding myself to imagine that not owning a weed eater gave me any street cred; after all, our family car is a Ford station wagon.

Besides, acquiring the weed eater as my own is really only a formality; I’d already been borrowing it regularly for the past year or so.

So, you can see why this is only a kind of capitulation; the real surrender had already taken place when I first used the tool.

Will this be the end of it, then? Or will you soon see me behind the wheel of a Winnebego, braunschwager in hand?