I don’t “do yard work.” I run a full-scale suburban land management operation with zero employees and one judgmental neighbor named Gary.

Saturday morning hits, and Gary is already outside, gently misting his lawn like he’s moisturizing a houseplant. Meanwhile, I step out like I’ve been contracted by the city to prepare for a golf tournament that will never happen. Coffee in one hand, trimmer in the other, looking like I’m about to negotiate with the grass instead of cut it.

Gary mows in neat little lines. Cute. I mow in patterns that suggest I might be mapping crop circles for aliens. Diagonal. Crosshatch. A bold spiral one time that honestly deserved local media coverage. My lawn doesn’t just get cut—it gets a storyline.

Then there’s edging. Gary taps the edge of his driveway like he’s outlining a coloring book. I come in like a barber fixing a bad haircut. Crisp. Aggressive. Borderline unnecessary. If a blade of grass even thinks about leaning over onto the sidewalk, I correct its entire life path.

Weeding? Gary pulls one or two, probably names them before removing them. I go on a full seek-and-destroy mission. I don’t just remove weeds—I send a message to their extended family. I’m out there crouched like I’m defusing bombs, muttering, “Not in my yard, Brenda,” to a dandelion that never stood a chance.

And don’t even get me started on blowing off the driveway. Gary does a polite little pass. I fire up the blower like I’m clearing a runway for emergency landing. Leaves, dust, small pebbles—if it’s not bolted down, it’s relocating. At one point I’m pretty sure I blew a wrapper into next Tuesday.

By noon, Gary’s done and sitting in a chair, admiring his work like a man who painted a pleasant watercolor. I’m still out there, sweating through my shirt, doing a “final pass” that has turned into my fourth final pass. Because what if the lawn isn’t perfect yet? What if someone drives by and thinks, “Yeah, that’s fine”? I refuse to be “fine.”

And here’s the thing—I don’t even have time for this most weeks. But when I do? I go full landscaping Olympics. No medals, no crowd, just me and Gary silently competing in a rivalry he definitely didn’t sign up for.

Gary once told me, “You know, you don’t have to do all that.”

And I said, “Gary… I absolutely do.”