I must confess. One of my favorite hobbies is thinking of great business opportunities and new inventions. The reason why I spend so much time thinking of “the next big thing” eludes me.
Not only am I completely happy doing what I’m doing…I wouldn’t have time to stop doing what I’m doing to start doing something else. See…I told you…it’s perplexing.
So, maybe my ideas can make someone else rich…someone else who has time to actually do any of the things I merely think of doing.
Aaron and I thought of two yesterday. Yep. It was a big day for us.
Number one…remote control water sprinklers.
I don’t mean like a sprinkler system.
Those are cool, and I must admit I covet them…but I just mean for us non-cool-above-the-ground, Neanderthal, hose dragging sprinkler people, wouldn’t it be neat if we could just walk near our water shooter, point our remote control at it and the thing stop shooting water long enough for us to move it to the next spot in need of water being shot at it?
Side note. ..
I hate water hoses.
And, I think sprinklers are completely of the devil.
I’m pretty sure my neighbors pop popcorn and get near a window to watch me in all my absurdity as I go about the seemingly simple task of keeping our lawn hydrated.
I swear that our water hose has a mind of it’s own.
It insists on wrapping itself up into huge knots…but only AFTER I’ve already turned the water on and am approximately 9 miles from the spicket.
At first, I do what every mature person would do…I try pulling with all my might.
I refuse to back track.
I’m convinced that back tracking in the early sprinkling stages shows a sign of weakness to the hose.
We can’t have that.
I am determined to stretch the knot out, or whack the knot out by smacking the tangled mess over and over against the ground.
Then I try my highly ineffective combo move, where I combine yanking and smacking with grunting, a little jumping and lots of chanting of "Who's your daddy." However, by this time, the hose is so freakishly heavy, that I stand there heaving it around, flopping it from side to side, to no avail.
After I’ve yanked so much on the hose, that I’ve practically dug myself into the ground and demolished any on-looking flowerbeds, I surrender.
It has won.
I am forced to hike back to the spicket, turn off the hose, untangle the wet, dirty anaconda and start all over again.
That’s just what it wanted me to do.
I’m just a pawn in it’s…well, water hoses don’t have hands…but you know what I mean.
I’m convinced they have secret arms though.
How else would they be able to yank over huge flower planters?
I am fully aware that I just need to grow up…do the mature thing and turn the water off between each encounter with the water hose.
When it’s time to move the hose to it’s new frustrating location, I should walk to the spicket, turn it off, walk back to the sprinkler, rearrange it, pamper it, tell it it’s the best dumb sprinkler in the whole wide world…then walk back to the spicket, turn back to the sprinkler, wave at it, blow it a kiss then turn the water back on.
This would probably insure that no one would get hurt.
I know I should bow to the all powerful water slinger.
I just can’t.
Instead, I don’t do any those things.
For some idiotic reason, I dare to challenge the supremacy of the sprinkler.
I try to bend the hose, making it choke to it’s death while I venture to move the sprinkler over but a wee tiny bit.
I soon find that this victory is short lived.
The moment I release my death grip, the sprinkler retaliates with vengeance. It’s strategy leaves me running across the yard screaming and sheltering my hair.
Once I’m out of range, my dripping body convulses in frustration.
I lose again.
If I could walk up to the outskirts of the slinging water, point a remote…and the water suddenly and completely stop….AA-HA-HA-HA-HA. I would throw my head back and laugh my evil laugh loudly in my yard. I would point and yell into every on-looking window…. “No show today, people.”
Then I would toss my dry hair…walk right up to the defeated sprinkler…move it…look at it in a belittling fashion…then walk away…point the remote over my non-damp shoulder…restart the water…and say...
“Who’s the Mast-a?” as I walk back inside.Stay tuned for invention two from yesterday.