The lawn is yours, son.
Don’t let the government tell you an extra bit of exercise gives you an empty head.
Don’t worry. It’s 90 degrees, but the sweat makes you smell good. It cleanses the pores.
Here it is.
Go ahead.
You can’t expect it to turn itself on. You have to pull the cord to start the motor.
Drag it out of the garage. The wheels will make it move, son. Give it a shove.
Now give the cord a yank. Resurrect the old beast.
Don’t do it with two hands.
It’s not about style. It’s about respect. You know, our neighbors take peeks at us from their living room windows. They think us quality entertainment. Try to act normal.
Sometimes the mower whines like that. It’s a good thing. It’s healthy. There is no shame in a Toro like that.
Take an hour to work on it, son. The lawn has taken a stand for two weeks so the grass will be thick.
If you don’t do a good job, I’ll have to ask you to stop and then I’ll have to take time off from work and mow the rest myself.
Don’t mess up, okay?
Okay.
Veto the proposition if you want, but I hope you can help your father.
Okay.