Fifty Shades of Green
We're together at least once a week, Dolores and me.
As spring lazily unfolds into the sultry heat of summer, we see each other frequently, and I look forward to each tryst. I'm always in control when we're together, grasping her sleek curves, guiding her once more over terrain she has already explored every inch of. She eagerly, expertly covers each place I tell her to. She's been in my life for almost eight years now, so I'm as intimately familiar with all her parts; I know exactly what she will respond to, and can get her fired up the first time, every time. She purrs beneath my fingertips as we do our thing. Sometimes we take an hour, sometimes we take three, but our encounters always leave me breathless, dripping, beads of sweat mingling with the swelling humidity.
Beyond the physical, though, there's the way my time with Dolores makes me feel inside: clear-headed. Pulsing with life. Exhausted but satisfied.
I found her through Craigslist, of all places - via a short, simple classified ad. I had recently relocated to a new town and had a need. I didn't know what to expect from her, since I wasn't exactly her first, but she has never disappointed me. Not even once. And now, after nearly a decade of partnership, there is no awkwardness between us; we move together as one.
My husband likes to watch us sometimes. Hell, I think even the neighbors scope us out once in a while; I've seen them casting glances. But can you blame them? Dolores and I make magic. It's intense.
I mean ... just look at these straight, gorgeous stripes.
Sure, Dolores isn't everybody's cup of tea. She's a little rough around the edges, a little dirty, getting a bit of age on her and it's starting to show. There are newer, shinier models. But to me, she's perfect.
Dolores Axelrod. My trusty John Deere push mower. My Deere Dolores. We run the yard, yo.
... What did you think I was talking about, you perv? This isn't some lesbian version of Fifty Shades. This here is a family-friendly blog.*
*Sort of.
Point is, I love to mow - I'm literally disappointed when I don't get to - and I love Dolores. And yes, I actually do call her that. It just sounded like a good name for a lawn mower. And if you can guess the obscure movie reference without Googling it, you're my new BFF.
We make a great team (well, until I fall in front of spectators). Over the weekend I used my neighbors' mower on their yard while they were out of town, and it just felt ... wrong. Like I was being unfaithful to Dolores. She has a bum handle (it wobbles) and she sounds like somebody is rattling a bucket of spare parts, but she's my rusty, wobbly, clanking machine and she still tackles my yard like a champ - even after all these years. And she makes my home look great, at least from the outside.
It's a blissful domestic partnership if I ever saw one.
As spring lazily unfolds into the sultry heat of summer, we see each other frequently, and I look forward to each tryst. I'm always in control when we're together, grasping her sleek curves, guiding her once more over terrain she has already explored every inch of. She eagerly, expertly covers each place I tell her to. She's been in my life for almost eight years now, so I'm as intimately familiar with all her parts; I know exactly what she will respond to, and can get her fired up the first time, every time. She purrs beneath my fingertips as we do our thing. Sometimes we take an hour, sometimes we take three, but our encounters always leave me breathless, dripping, beads of sweat mingling with the swelling humidity.
Beyond the physical, though, there's the way my time with Dolores makes me feel inside: clear-headed. Pulsing with life. Exhausted but satisfied.
I found her through Craigslist, of all places - via a short, simple classified ad. I had recently relocated to a new town and had a need. I didn't know what to expect from her, since I wasn't exactly her first, but she has never disappointed me. Not even once. And now, after nearly a decade of partnership, there is no awkwardness between us; we move together as one.
My husband likes to watch us sometimes. Hell, I think even the neighbors scope us out once in a while; I've seen them casting glances. But can you blame them? Dolores and I make magic. It's intense.
I mean ... just look at these straight, gorgeous stripes.
Perfection.
Sure, Dolores isn't everybody's cup of tea. She's a little rough around the edges, a little dirty, getting a bit of age on her and it's starting to show. There are newer, shinier models. But to me, she's perfect.
Dolores Axelrod. My trusty John Deere push mower. My Deere Dolores. We run the yard, yo.
... What did you think I was talking about, you perv? This isn't some lesbian version of Fifty Shades. This here is a family-friendly blog.*
*Sort of.
Point is, I love to mow - I'm literally disappointed when I don't get to - and I love Dolores. And yes, I actually do call her that. It just sounded like a good name for a lawn mower. And if you can guess the obscure movie reference without Googling it, you're my new BFF.
We make a great team (well, until I fall in front of spectators). Over the weekend I used my neighbors' mower on their yard while they were out of town, and it just felt ... wrong. Like I was being unfaithful to Dolores. She has a bum handle (it wobbles) and she sounds like somebody is rattling a bucket of spare parts, but she's my rusty, wobbly, clanking machine and she still tackles my yard like a champ - even after all these years. And she makes my home look great, at least from the outside.
It's a blissful domestic partnership if I ever saw one.
Oh oh! Is it Dolores Claiborne??
ReplyDeleteAnd I think you could definitely venture into more "adult" themed writing!
Loving your blog, from across the pond.
Lis x
I hear you my friend. Love your blog. I have 4 children also; girl, boy, boy, and boy. Mine are 19 to 9 but I remember well my love to mow because you can't hear anyone. It's an outing. Also, love to run the vacuum cleaner for the same reason.
ReplyDeleteAlso, just read about your upcoming summer break. I hear your pain. When my boys were small; I would let them take there matchbox cars to the bathroom and wash them. I figured I could mop the resulting lake on the counter top and floor. Good trade for an hour of activity.
Another idea; put them on a treasure of items in their closets, but let some of the items be things you don't have. At my house we didn't have a "blue" truck. So, I would say, "Go find Mom the blue truck." They would hunt and hunt. We didn't have one. And while hunting; they would get distracted and play for a while with a toy they had not seen for a while.
Believe it or not; this time of your life will pass. (don't hit me)
Darlene