In my neck of the woods, it doesn’t matter the size of your house, the expensive of your car, or the labels on your clothes. People here could care less. There are people in my county that have lived in the same four room house for fifty years, with the same linoleum floor as when it was built, driving an old beat up vehicle that have enough money to start their own bank…and they have.
The only status symbol that really matters here in Hooterville is the lawn mower.
Yes, you heard me right,the LAWN MOWER.
Most wealthy people take great pride in the fact that they can afford a lawn service but us Hootervillains take great pride in spending thousands of dollars in taking care of it ourselves…cause that’s how we roll…zero turn style.
No ordinary riding mower will do. It has to be the “mac daddy, zero turn, fast enough to race Dale Jr. , if you don’t believe me come on over and I’ll race your piece of junk“ lawn mower.
In the summer, us Hooterville girls like to ride the mac daddy mowers in our bikini tops so we can not only flash everyone our fancy schmancy mower but also our ta-ta’s. We’re classy like that.
When I married my husband, I wasn’t accustomed to such wealth and had to be taught the finer things in life like how to drive such a impressive machine.
I guess you could say I married for money a mower.
My driving lesson consisted of my mother in law patiently trying to instruct me to go in a straight line for 45 minutes while my neighbor sat on his front swing, drinking beer and laughing his ass off, cause all I could do was turn circles. Later,without success, she told me it might be a good idea if I just went out in the pasture so I wouldn’t mow down anymore tree seedlings.
In my defense, they were tiny trees…almost like weeds…and my eye sight ain’t worth a crap…I’m just saying.
Anyhoo, I’ve been mowing now for four years and I think my skillz have gotten much better.
This is how I’ve learned to push everything with the mower, thus eliminating the need for weed eating or getting off the mower to move anything…
This is how I run over anything in my path…
(Notice the above was not a beer can. My momma raised me not to throw them in the yard. Ding dang ya’ll, I’m not a hick.)
And this is how I pick up all the kids toys (golf clubs, stroller, bow and arrows, cast iron skillet) while riding my mower…
and for the grand finale…this is how I get the mower tire caught in the fence and tear the whole fence up…
Jealous? Makes you want a billy bad ass lawn mower, doesn’t it?
