Weed Whacker

Spring bloomed at warp speed after all the rain we've had here this winter. I decided to be of some use and mow our tiny front lawn. This done, I re-caffeinated and went to use the weed whacker or weed eater, whatever you want to call it to trim up the place. I looked around in the shed and under the house. No whacker. Trying to think what I did with it was like making ice cream in Death Valley. I finally decided that I had lent it to my brother Chris. Yeah, he's got it.
So I called Chris. I was hopeful beyond a church full o' Irishman. "Chris, do you have my weed eater?"
"Yeah, Charlie I do. I'll drop it off at your house soon." We talk a correct measure of small talk and I hang up satisfied that I've still got some memory left.
I walk into the yard the other day to see a weed eater. But not the one I remember. Yeah right. I call Chris and say, "that's not the one I lent you". "Yes it is" he says. "No it isn't", I say. "Mine was green. This one is black and a different brand", I add. "No Charlie, it's yours."
Being the older brother, Chris is right even though I have the paperwork to an obviously wrong machine. I hang up.
I go to use the thing and it doesn't work. Hah! Mine used to work!!! I call Chris and tell him to come and get the devil's yard tool out of my sight.
A few days later Chris tells me that he is at work with Don Medina and relating the story of our silly weed eater exchange. Don stopped his work and said, "Chris, don't you remember? That's mine". Then Chris remembered. It was Don's. And it was broken.
At that point We're both hosed.
Sears is having a sale. I see one with a notice on the side of the box. GOOD FOR OCCASIONAL USE ONLY. I bought that one.

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