My husband is brilliant and good. When he’s on the phone to Uganda he speaks a language neither English nor Ugandan. It’s binary. His father, my father-in-law, thinks that my husband is going straight to Heaven. I will not be joining him there—also according to my father-in-law.
What I can’t figure out is why, oh why, my husband, the brilliant computer geek angel, CANNOT remember to put the sprayer nozzle back on the end of the hose in the barn.
(WARNING: POINT OF VIEW SHIFT) “Why,” she yelped, her voice echoing down through the corridors of endless time, despair coloring the consonants blue. “Why can’t he put the stinking nozzle back on?”
A nozzle, gentle reader, is one of those garden hose attachments that allows a person, who might be watering the rabbits, to turn the water off at the end. You know! A sprayer nozzle. Twist to turn off. Twist to turn on. Easy. Peasy.
Because when the hose doesn’t have a sprayer nozzle on the end it’s difficult to water the rabbits (located inside the chicken’s outdoor run) without splashing water into the chicken stuff under the rabbit cages. Chicken stuff is made of dirt and stuff that is not dirt and quickly liquefies when hit with water, turning to chicken mud sludge. Chicken mud sludge is disgusting. Chicken mud sludge has the consistency of poop pudding. And it splashes.
Sure. Sure. You can crimp the hose with your hand (old school) but then the hose kinks, curls, twists, catches, or curves into a fetal position, so that you have to yank it—yank it hard—causing your crimping hand to slip. Water erupts—thus chicken mud sludge, splashing up, out, and over whatever you happen to be wearing. CHICKEN. MUD. SLUDGE.
All of which can be eliminated with a twist on, twist off sprayer nozzle.
My husband—the brilliant binary speaking, heaven bound angel man— never puts the nozzle back on the hose before flying off to Uganda or wherever angel men fly off to.
Granted, this is a second rate, first world problem, and I should be roundly ashamed for my carping, whining attitude, but since I’m not going to Heaven anyway, according to close relatives, I might as well make a public outcry of my nozzle frustration.
Excuse me. I have to go take a shower now.
Linda (Hell’s Bells and Cocker Shells) Zern