Leaving the chemical lawn intervention to professionals seemed like a good idea at the time. They are trained, licensed and experienced in such matters. And I liked the idea of having someone else apply carcinogenic toxins to the lawn so I didn't have to inhale birth-defect pixie dust.
Plus, I harbored this misguided fantasy that if I paid professionals to treat the lawn, the lawn would be relatively weed free.
What was I thinking?
It was around July of this year that I realized what was going on out there. On one of my wifeless mowing forays, I happened to get off the mower and actually look at the lawn.
Crab grass. As far as the eye can see, stretching horizon to horizon. Thick, dense, ugly clods of crab grass – the kind that weaves itself into the lawn, blasting any lawn grass in its path and turning wiry and brown in the heat of summer.
Son of a bitch. Remind me again why am I paying these guys to spread toxic waste on my lawn?
I stewed and brewed for a few months, seriously considering driving to their office to throttle somebody.
Fate intervened, by way of National Public Radio.