Moscow Rule 2 - Never Go Against Your Gut

My gut was in knots.

And like a grown up person with fully developed opinions and life skills of my own, I called Charlotte to tell her that I was feeling a little iffy about the decision.

Charlotte has way more guts than me when it comes to putting Joe in his place. Her reaction was quick and decisive and certain.

"Call that idiot back and tell him to forget it! He's a jerk to even accept your money, and your lawn is the size of a postage stamp! I'll get one of my boys to do it, for Christ's teeth!"

Maybe it was that I was still a little weak in the knees from all that had been happening as my marriage unraveled like a cheap sweater or maybe I was feeling like I should not tempt fate while my divorce settlement hung in the balance, but I just could not do it.

Live and learn. I would live to replay Charlotte's advice over and over in my head as the most trying summer of my life came vividly to life.

So Joe mowed my lawn the first time and did an admirable job. No complaints. I'd told him where I'd hidden the key and left him $40 on the dining room table. He did the rest.

And the second time he came, I noticed that my iced tea pitcher was replaced in the fridge with about a mouthful of tea left in the pitcher. Not even my kids would do that.

And then one day my son noticed that his gaming system was left on and games were all out of order. My daughter found snack wrappers and other debris in her room. It happened for several weeks in a row.

Once or twice I came home to find that my computer was on and grass clippings were all over the upstairs carpets.

And again, once or twice, I found used bath towels hung on the shower rod because Joe had decided to take a shower.

But the crowning glory was when I ordered and lovingly planted a Pink Smoke Tree, after a careful selection process I involved J. in, as a symbol of my fresh, new life. I had planted the little twiglet in a corner spot and surrounded it protectively with a little fence. I had written Joe a note and included a diagram indicating where it was so he could be careful not to mow over it.

And incredulously, he not only mowed over it, but moved the little fence so that he could mow in that spot which was mysteriously guarded by a fence for some reason!

And for all this, I dutifully kept my end of the bargain. Paid him $40 every time. Oh sure, there was a time or two I was short on cash and paid him a few days later, but I shelled out the 40 clams every time for service I could have gotten from the drunken retired landscaper up the street for an $8 six pack of canned Schlitz.

And yet still, 4 years later, my act of charity would come back to haunt me.