You don’t like grass?

I have a friend who doesn’t like grass. Actually, she detests grass. When she first confessed her disdain for the odd patch of green we had come upon in the city, my face crinkled up in confusion. “What do you mean, you don’t like grass?” In fact, my face is now crinkled up in confusion as I write this. Who hates grass? I guess I can understand not being excited by it, but to hate it, despise it, as she does – I mean, come on. Seriously?

Grass is not a subject that comes up often in our conversations, but when I have the opportunity, I mention it. Sometimes, I bring it up in the company of others – just to see whether I’m the only one that thinks it’s crazy to hate grass. Sometimes, I mention it to my friend as a reminder to myself that our friendship is true – so true, I have intimate knowledge of her weird grass phobia. We have certainly graduated beyond the deep things in life and on to the completely random and mundane. To me, that’s a sign of a good friendship.

A few weeks ago, we attended the wedding of a mutual friend that took place on the lawn outside a log cabin in the Presidio. As we were walking to take our seats, it occurred to me she was walking on grass, and in high heels, to boot! I grabbed her shoulder from behind as we were nearing our row of folded metal chairs and said, “How are you handling it? Are you doing OK?” I didn’t have to mention the word grass – she knew exactly what I was talking about. She said she was OK – she knew she only had to step on it for the ceremony, and when that was over, we’d be inside the log cabin drinking the night away. She did say she wished she’d brought her flask, but she thought she could handle it. I was glad.

I’m still unsure why she hates grass as much as she does. She did grow up around LA. Maybe that’s at the root of the problem. I grew up in the Midwest where there is more grass than you could ask for. There were things about the grass I hated – mowing it weekend after weekend when it was supposed to be my step-dad’s job. Being harassed if I didn’t walk the mower across the lawn in exactly the right pattern. Inevitably spilling it on the driveway when trying to empty the unwieldy canvas bag that caught the clippings. It’s impossible to sweep freshly cut grass from concrete, by the way. It just sticks, sometimes moves an inch or two, always dying the concrete green the more you attack it with a broom. You should just skip the broom and go immediately for the garden hose on high pressure. I hated cleaning up the dog crap in the back yard before I could run the mower, too – although it was easier than chiseling it out of the frozen snow in the winter. But none of those things made me hate grass itself. One of these days I’ll have to ask again why, exactly, she hates grass. Oh well, to each his own, I guess.

9 thoughts on “You don’t like grass?

  1. Thank you for the laugh, That is completely bizarre. I can’t think of any friends that have phobia’s that strange, tho my brother’s ex-girlfriend was completely terrified of crickets

  2. Hey there, EastBayWriter, this is your sister. I hate grass, too, I just don’t talk about it much. I’m allergic. Ok, ok, yes… I’m allergic to just about everything, but I don’t have to cut down and walk through anything else I’m allergic to.

    Your nephew usually mows the grass for me, but he won’t be here forever, and there are times he fails to follow through. For me to mow my lawn, I have to get all hopped up on Zyrtec and put on thick sweat pants to greet the 85-degrees-and-humid summer air. Then I huff and puff and wheeze behind the mower, stopping every 20 minutes to pull out an inhaler and suck on it like I’m practicing to go free diving. When I finally finish, I run through the house half naked, headed straight to the shower to douse the hives in cold water and cuss out both mother nature and city ordinances regarding the height of one’s lawn.

    So next time you see your friend who hates grass, give her a high five or a fist bump or something of that nature from me. I wish I had a concrete yard.

    • Haha – OK, you got me. You DO have a reason to hate grass, but my friend still does not. 🙂 Nonetheless, I will give her a high five, or what would really make her happiest – some bacon.

  3. Pingback: Cat Power « east.bay.writer

  4. Pingback: The Guatemalan « east.bay.writer

  5. Pingback: Anecdotes from a wedding in Carmel « east.bay.writer

  6. Pingback: Mr. Faucet says, “Please be gentle.” « east.bay.writer

  7. Pingback: Gratitude « east.bay.writer

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s