Gimme Back My Damn Grasscutter!

You know who you are. You slimy sleazy grasscutter stealer you.

Okay, so I'm stupid to think this is a crime-free zone. Is there such a thing? I mean, crime is practically nonexistant here on the island. This is the only place in the world where I actually feel safe enough that if I made it up 3 flights of stairs and I remember once I get up on the 3rd floor that I forgot to lock the door on the 1st floor, I'm okay. If I die in the middle of the night, I die in the middle of the night.

But that's the way it is around here. You could walk the streets at night and nothing would happen to you. It's mostly tourists who usually are family-oriented and don't think killing someone on a family vacation would be good enough to make it on their fun things to do list. Which I'm really grateful for.

And you want to know what's the craziest thing? I never even noticed it was missing. If you could picture this carport...there's 2 cars and the grasscutter against the wall. And that is it. I did notice the other day how clean the carport looked. Like someone had cleaned it or something and all along, someone had stole the damn grasscutter without me even realizing it.

And to this day I still wouldn't have noticed it missing if BF hadn't come over today to cut the grass. I want you to visualize this grass "that needs cutting." It's a square no bigger than a child's playhouse. That small. It's in the back and is the only place we have to cut because the front yard is full of marsh grass that floods when the tide is high like it's doing right now. So I really don't notice the grass in the back needing cutting like I don't notice a bright as day grasscutter that isn't there anymore.

So, he goes, "Where's the grasscutter?"

And I'm busy, right. Anybody messing with me when I've got ten tours to put together has lost their everloving mind. So I scream silently and go downstairs to see what in the hell he's talking about. "Where's the grass cutter?" he asks again. "I come over to cut the grass and I don't see the grasscutter."

Well, I looked. I looked in the back, I looked in the little room outside where we keep the bikes and the scooters and everything one would keep in an attic sort of thing, and there's no grass cutter.

I'm like in shock. I don't scream, I don't cry, I just like stand there and go, "What the hell do you want me to do about it?" I'm not very good with expressing myself without a few hells to prove my point, but I'm improving.

So I get to thinking. There are about 12 units here. One old couple lives a few condos down to my left and another old couple lives a few condos down to my right and they not only both own grasscutters, but riding mowers, also. For what, God knows because they all have the same amount of grass I do.

I really really didn't think it would be the tourists staying next door and a few units down, more tourists...I really didn't think they'd think to swipe a grasscutter on the way back home.

And then it dawned on me. Next door has these maintenance people. Actually it translates into people who come in and clean the condos in their spare time. And they have a truck.

Okay, I know I'm grasping at straws, but using common sense, well, you know.

So whoever has it, I hope they're having a lovely time trying to start it after it's been under the carport all year long with the water from the ocean lapping over the engine ever so often. I hope they really really enjoy it.