About a year ago, we bought a cordless leaf blower. A Ryobi 40V Jet Fan model, to be exact. No more extension cords to trip over. No gas. It was the best thing since sliced bread. Until it wasn’t. I loved that Ryobi like a sister from another mister. So much so, that my beloved partner, Rebecca, often felt I spent more quality time with that machine than her, the dog or Mustang Sal. (So not true.) “It’s like she’s become your new BFF,” I’d hear whenever “Ry” and I hung out. OK, people, I named my leaf blower, which I am not proud of. (It rhymes with he, but…