So I get home from work the other day, and a notice something. Our back yard has been mowed, the hitherto badly-overgrown fence on one side of it is now devoid of encroaching shrubbery for about 3/4 of its length, and there is a humungous pile of debris in the middle of the lawn.
"Hmmm," I think. "This is odd."
I begin to develop theories as to how this occurred. Numbered among them is the idea that my wife might have spontaneously started this project- that idea is ranked just below the more-likely alternative of it being done by unemployed migrant workers or elves.
So I go ask my wife what happened in the back yard and she admits to getting on a sudden lawn care kick and starting the work herself. Now, this is distressing. You see, the back yard and I had an uneasy truce. I left it alone, and it left me alone. I liked it that way. All this raking and hoeing and fertilizing and weeding seems unnatural, and frankly I think the yard would be happier if it were left untroubled. I know I would be. But my wife thought otherwise, and here we are.
Now, you're wondering what this has to do with HI khuks. I'm getting to that.
She started out using a pair of clippers and assorted other tools that we possess, but she rapidly got sick of using them, and she went upstairs and grabbed my villager khukri that I got for a song from Uncle Bill last year. She recalled what short work it made of minor hacking and slashing when we went camping, and she thought it might work on the back yard. Well, it worked okay...after a few minutes of trial and error she managed to get down the right technique, and then turn into a brush-clearing machine, ripping through the densest overgrowth this side of the Congo. She presented the knife to me in all its glory: mud on the blade, woodchips and sap stuck all over it, several small nicks and one actual dull area (she hit concrete. Twice).
So I go to work, she gets the fun job of hacking and slashing, and I get a pile of limbs and small tree trunks (no joke!) to remove.
Marriage just ain't fair.
Mike
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"A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects." -Robert Heinlein
"Hmmm," I think. "This is odd."
I begin to develop theories as to how this occurred. Numbered among them is the idea that my wife might have spontaneously started this project- that idea is ranked just below the more-likely alternative of it being done by unemployed migrant workers or elves.
So I go ask my wife what happened in the back yard and she admits to getting on a sudden lawn care kick and starting the work herself. Now, this is distressing. You see, the back yard and I had an uneasy truce. I left it alone, and it left me alone. I liked it that way. All this raking and hoeing and fertilizing and weeding seems unnatural, and frankly I think the yard would be happier if it were left untroubled. I know I would be. But my wife thought otherwise, and here we are.
Now, you're wondering what this has to do with HI khuks. I'm getting to that.
She started out using a pair of clippers and assorted other tools that we possess, but she rapidly got sick of using them, and she went upstairs and grabbed my villager khukri that I got for a song from Uncle Bill last year. She recalled what short work it made of minor hacking and slashing when we went camping, and she thought it might work on the back yard. Well, it worked okay...after a few minutes of trial and error she managed to get down the right technique, and then turn into a brush-clearing machine, ripping through the densest overgrowth this side of the Congo. She presented the knife to me in all its glory: mud on the blade, woodchips and sap stuck all over it, several small nicks and one actual dull area (she hit concrete. Twice).
So I go to work, she gets the fun job of hacking and slashing, and I get a pile of limbs and small tree trunks (no joke!) to remove.
Marriage just ain't fair.
Mike
------------------
"A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects." -Robert Heinlein
