We were sitting on the front porch of The House on the Hill. It was a gorgeous May afternoon that would have been completely wasted had we spent it inside having our usual chuckle headed conversation.
“That’s a rather broad statement,” I pointed out as I popped the top on my bottle and took a long sip of the best stuff on Earth. “Care to narrow it down a little?”
Lucifer rolled his eyes and shook his head before he deigned to answer my question. “My former employer created you in His image and then sweetened the deal even further by granting you free will, which must be so nice given that Angels are forced to obey His every command. What do you do with that gift? You choose to waste your lives on frivolous endeavors like mowing the lawn.”
“What the Hell are you rambling on about?” I asked as I put my legs up on the porch rail to get myself really comfortable for his explanation.
“You have been given permission to make your own choices, lead your own lives, do anything your imperfect little hearts desire, and after weighing your options, you decide to waste an hour on a gorgeous Sunday cutting grass that’s only going to grow back. It’s simply ludicrous!” The Prince of Darkness declared loud enough for my neighbors to hear across the street.
“Dude, settle down,” I cautioned. “I don’t care if you have a pitchfork and the ability to sentence my soul to eternal damnation. I’ve got neighbors and it isn’t cool to raise your voice in some anti-religious rant. Got it?”
Satan was clearly taken aback by my comments. He brushed some lint off of his impeccably tailored suit, straightened his silk tie, and pulled his designer sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to glare at me over them like some sort of tough guy.
“Did you seriously just address me as ‘dude’?” he asked in disdain. “Am I wearing a Hawaiian shirt, surfer shorts, and ratty sandals without being aware of it…amigo?”
“There you go making generalizations again,” I countered after talking a long sip of iced tie. “An uptight prick in a million dollar suit can still be a dude. Look it up.”
The conversation was getting ridiculous. Either the sun was getting to us, or I simply had a title for this short story and no real idea of what to write.
It’s probably a little bit of both, but don’t let that prevent you from enjoying this tale.
“All I was trying to say, before being verbally accosted for no apparent reason, was that it seems like a waste of time to tend to grass that is only going to grow back,” The Devil clarified without really saying much of anything when you really think about it.
“What would you have me do?” I shot back at him. “Just let it grow until this place looks like a serial killer’s not so secret lair?”
“This has to be the most ridiculous conversation we’ve ever had,” I observed as I looked down proudly at my beautiful, lush lawn.
“Mowing the lawn is such a waste of time that I’ve desperately tried to grow grass in Hell for decades so I can force the Damned to mow it for all eternity,” The Prince of Darkness revealed. “Unfortunately, it’s just too hot down there for anything to grow.”
“Send up some of your guests any time and let them have a run at my lawn,” I offered. “If you want to punish them even more, you can sit up here and have a conversation with them while they’re mowing.”
Satan didn’t laugh, but I thought it was hilarious. I reached into the cooler for another Snapple and tried to push any thoughts of lawn care out of my mind.
After all, Sunday was supposed to be a day of rest…
You don’t need to make a deal with The Devil to follow me on Pinterest…