Denis Lehane: Would ewe believe my Valentine’s gift
“Well,” says she, “seeing as you asked, I wouldn’t say no to something that sparkles, something with a nice cut to it.”
Valentine’s Day also happens to be her birthday, you see, and it’s the one day of the year when I spoil her like you wouldn’t believe.
“Say no more,” says I, firing on my coat. I was off to Macroom, for I knew exactly what the woman wanted.
On Valentine’s morning, it was with an air of excitement that I woke her up, only to tell her to close her eyes.
I had a surprise for her downstairs.
Taking her by the hand, I lead her to the kitchen, where her gift was on display.
“Open your eyes and give it a pull,” says I, as giddy as a teenager.
“What’s this?” she shrieked, staring at the thing.
“Go on,” I repeated, “give it a pull, and it will come to life in no time.”
“Please don’t tell me you got me this lawnmower for Valentine’s Day?” she cried.
“I did,” I replied, my excitement fading as I realised she was not as ecstatic as I had expected.
“Sure you said you wanted something that sparkled and had a nice cut to it.”
“I meant a piece of jewellery, you big hairy buffoon, do I have to spell everything out to you?” she exploded.
“But look at it,” I pleaded, trying frantically to avoid World War Three.
“Macroom Tool Hire gave me a great deal. Imagine the hours of fun you’ll have cutting the lawn with it. Go on, give it a pull.”
Well, to cut a long story short, I soon found myself heading out the front door, dragging my lawnmower after me, and my missus telling me where I could shove the machine.
As Valentine’s Days go, this one was heading downhill fast.
“What will I do with you now?” I asked the lawnmower, and, seeing as how we weren’t very welcome in the house, didn’t I pull the old cord, and away we went, cutting like blazes.
And I was right to strike on, for the lawn was very much out of control. With the old lawnmower having gone to ground two years previously, I had been attempting to keep the lawn in shape by using my sheep.
But sheep, alas, I found were not a great substitute for the lawnmower.
When not tearing my underpants from the washing line, they would stretch out on the footpath as if they owned the place, with the ram displaying his testicles and throwing shapes at any visitors that might call.
In a nutshell, ’twas far from an air of sophistication they gave the place. Eating lawn grass seemed to be the last thing on their minds.
Anyway, I cut away like the devil himself, the mower hummed like a silage harvester as it blew out cut grass from all sides. In no time at all the place was looking like the Gardens of Versailles.
And when my missus saw the wonderful job I had done, and not a sheep in sight, sure ’twas hard for her to stay cross with me and the lawnmower.
We had performed magnificently. Before too long, I was back in the house, and with a bunch of flowers that I had cleverly purchased, marital bliss was restored once again. Valentine’s Day was beginning to look rosy.
