Me and Harry Dresden, all the way.

Most of you already know, by the title of my entry, what this story is going to be about.

So.

I offered to help mom get ready for her trip by mowing the front yard today. Since the riding mower and I are were on good terms, this seemed like a thoughtful way for me to be a good daughter, instead of a freeloading slacker.

Silly me.

The riding mower, after valiantly carting me around for about twenty minutes, coughed up a cloud of black dust, and died. Multiple attempts to resuscitate it (in the form of checking for oil and fuel, giving it time to cool down before trying to restart it) have failed.

The riding mower is dead.

Long live the revolution.

Mother claims that it's been on its last legs for about two years, and it was due to die any day, so it's not my fault.

You and I, dear reader, know better.

Don't we?