A giant limb inexplicably came crashing down late last week at my Dad’s house. It landed smack dab in the back of Dad’s perfectly manicured, expansive lawn. I wasn’t informed of this nugget of information until I got home on Friday, the beginning to a glorious, lazy Labor Day Weekend.

The kindly next-door neighbor had already traipsed over and sawed several portions of said massive limb, so it would be more manageable to move.  Of course, I was wondering who was going to remove the scattered debris without risking life and limb. (Pun intended.) Dad seemed to think he and I were going to do this by tying a rope to the tractor and dragging it willy-nilly to the lot line.  While pondering this dubious task, I heard Dad’s home phone ring.

“Hello? No. Nope — nothing this week. I think we’re all good. Sorry!” was what I heard coming from my father. I quizzed him about who was calling. It was dad’s handyman/yardman/man about town Luis (who my father refuses to call anything but Louis). “That was Louis calling … looking to see if I had any chores that needed done this week. I told him no,” my father announced triumphantly.

And then my head exploded.

I looked at the lumber-in-waiting in our backyard and then back at my father like a crazy person.  See, if there’s one thing I’m useless at, it’s manual labor. I can’t change my own oil … I bought a townhouse so I don’t have to mow my own yard … and I struggle with simple tasks like dusting and making my bed. How I’ve functioned on this earth for 40+ years is beyond me (or my father).

Dad was determined to remove the limb without assistance — save for mine. I was determined to gladly pay Luis to do it and keep the sanctity of Labor Day alive.  If we were going to remove that limb, I’d still be out there right now, sweaty, irritated and bitter. Fortunately, after a quick return call, Luis arrived, had the limb neatly stacked up and the leaves removed in no time flat. His rate? $25 per hour. (I would have gladly paid $50 … hell, $75.)

“I really thought I was going to get some labor out of you this weekend,” my dad informed me. To appease the masses, I spent 45 minutes this morning weeding the entire yard, since my Dad (ironically) hates to do that. My belove auntie joined in on the fun. My preference, of course, was to call Luis, but I sucked it up. Sometimes you have to learn to pick your battles.  And in this case, battling Creeping Charlie and pesky Morning Glory was far better than moving a small, unbuilt A-frame house.