Why am I still in hot water if there's a water shortage?
"Why are you just sitting under that tree?" My wife asks before she is even out of the car. "But maybe my first question should of been is where did you get that tree? Is that the chestnut tree from the Pounds yard across the street?" Again questioning and accusing before she completely out of the car and both feet on the driveway.
"Good observation honey! You're absolutely right. They stuck an orange fence around it after they demolished the house so no kids would be climbing up in it before they cut it down. I just beat them too it and planted it here."
"You can't just go cutting,...or planting a cut,...???how did you get it over here? And what's that around your neck and wrists? Your stinking sports socks?"
"Oh I'm just playing it cool honey."
"Oh I'm the one who's going to be playing it cool honey! And for a long time!"
"You remember Ron and Dereck from my bowling team well they had a truck and a chain and I had a plan. And now I'm enjoying the cool shade under my new chestnut tree." BONK! "Look a chestnut just fell on my head, that's good luck!"
"No it was me and it was a rock! Not good luck." My wife stated now looking for another projectile in the form of a rock.
"Did you know the shade from a tree is cooler than shade from a building? The tree cools itself by water evaporation through its leaves thus creating a cool dome all around itself. And around my neck and wrists are my tube socks filled with frozen rice. The frozen raw rice form a tight fit around the areas with a lot of blood flow thus cooling me."
"Speaking of blood flowing what's in front of all my curtains covering all the windows?"
"Funny you should notice that. I nailed wet sheets over all the windows."
"You drove nails through my Venetian plaster to hang wet sheets, which are probably dripping on the hardwood floors so,...because,...??" She stuttered as she expertly launched proof she'd found another rock.
"It's just that the tape wouldn't carry the weight of the wet sheets." I defend myself as I dodge her expert aim. "And they are there to cool the house. As warm breezes pass through them the water evaporated from your Egyptian cotton sheets thus creating a cooling effect. And the Egyptians knew how to keep things cool."
"Not as cool as your going to find it Mr. King Tut! Oh and look we have a pool in our front yard! Or is it just a massive pool cover!?"
"That's exactly what the neighbours will think when come back from holidays is that we have an in ground pool. Now whose keeping up with the Jones? And it only cost you a couple of hundred dollars honey. We can have faux pool parties around this beauty. Girls in bikinis with bikinis all in my yard expecting to swim but I'll just say the PH balance is too off to swim in your bikini right now. We'll be the talk of the neighbourhood!"
"We already are! And it ain't good! Mr. Bikini!" She exclaimed with both arms in the air. Which was unfortunate because when she tripped over the hose she couldn't catch herself.
"Why is there a hose running through my front door?" She demanded, in a yelling kind of way, from an almost horizontal position. "And why, may I ask is steam coming out of the lawn sprinkler which is where this hose seems to be attached to!"
I was surprised at how quickly she had righted herself. She then stooped over either looking for rocks or noticing the blood oozing out the hole in her stockings. But either way it would be a 'duck and cover' operation for me.
"Well," I defended while looking for cover "they say not to water our lawn or wash the car or fill up the grandkids pool because of a water shortage. But they don't say anything about hot water. There seems to be no shortage of hot water, so I thought I'd water our thirsty lawn from the bottom of the hot water tank."
"You can't water the lawn from the hot water t-a-n-k!
She expelled a thrust of air from her lungs in pronouncing tank because it was said while throwing a rock my way.
"That's what the guy from city hall said when he stopped in his car." I said ducking behind my new chestnut tree. Which, caused it to lean a little to far into far into the yard and then it went from vertical to a more horizontal plane. "I told him I could, and showed him how I hooked it up at the tank. He continued to say I couldn't do that but I showed him the tank even has its own hose tap at the bottom. Any----way,....we have to appear down a city hall on Tuesday at 10:00 am. I told him it was quite impossible as you have a job."
My tree had now attained full TIMBER status. Fully relaxed in a linear fashion across the pool cover and the wife's prized roses. I took a hit to the thigh with a piece of cement from the walkway. Made a mental note of where it bounced so I could retrieve it for repair.
"Well I don't know about you," the wife started out with just a tinge of anger, disgust and possibly hate, "but I will certainly be cool tonight. There'll be no you, you heat radiating mammal with your heavy breathing getting our,..no MY bed all hot!"
'Enjoy your tree Tarzan!' was the last thing she said. Then the sprinkler shut off, the hose was then thrown out the door and then the door achieved an even plane to the front of the house with a loud BANG!
Tuesday 10:20 outside city hall.
Well I showed them! You can water your front lawn from the tap at the bottom of your hot water tank. Then they showed me how very expensive it is in the form of a ticket. Good thing the wife's at work. Now if I can just get back in the house.
"Honey! It's garbage day tomorrow, you have to prepare the trash! If you're looking for your glasses I last saw them on top of your head! I'm heading out."
She knows I need my glasses to prepare, not take out, but to arrange and properly place unwanted articles and food waste in their respective bags and boxes. I need my glasses to find that dad-blang triangle on the plastic containers. Lord forbid if I get the wrong numbered triangle in the recycle box. If they could make the numbers bigger or colour them it would certainly make my life easier. I have to twist and turn them trying to get the light right, running my finger across the ridges trying to caress out a single digit number. I look like I'm trying to strum some instrument made of recycled garbage. The wife's jealous of her plastic salad box, complaining it gets more loving attention on the way to the Blue Box than she does all week.
Now the plastic's taking care of, it's time to wash the bottles and try to remove labels from the glass. I say try, because usually that's all it is, is an attempt. If they (the garbage police) want labels off, why do they (again the garbage police) let companies crazy glue them on. They are at one with the glass! Hot water, soap and razor blades are needed to try and hide the fact that it was once a pickle bottle. It seems anonymity is very important to the people down at Bills Brought Back Broken Bottle Bin. Where their motto is 'Be an un-labeler enabler!' I think Bill drinks what's left at the bottom of the bottles.
Onward to the papers! For this I refer to my 'Recycle With Confidence' section of my recycling bible (provided by our fair city) which I now find out got mixed up with the recyclables last week! And thrown out! So now with anything but confidence, I attempt the next to impossible. The house receives and brings in a lot of paper. And for this we have two different bags with which to recycle our papyrus. So do I use the blue bag or the yellow bag for a non-glossy insert flyer with removed plastic window made from cardboard with a newsprint insert. I hum and haw over this one for some time, and then with little confidence place it in the yellow bag. I then get off the floor and phone Tom next door to see which bag he used. No answer.
Newspaper after newspaper checked for hidden paper infractions. Cardboard boxes flattened, and staples removed. Egg cartons squished. Plastic windows removed. Tearaway all traces of my name and address on any envelopes. Become like the pickle bottle. Find interesting article in 'Time' magazine and waste ten minutes determining if your spouse is cheating on you.
Now, not only am I not sure I've got the right paper in the right bag, I now lack confidence the wife is staying true to our wedding vows! I'll try Tom again.
Still bothered by the flyer made of cardboard with the newsprint insert, I complete all paper products and move on to food scraps. Confidence builds. Either cooked or non-prepared foods all go in the kitchen container and then the green cart. What my wife can do with a $30 dollar roast is criminal. I just throw it out before it becomes a crime scene. For Christmas one year I got her a serving platter with the white chalk outline of a roast. Like the police do with a dead body. In response, she used my suit pants that day as a pot holder to remove the turkey from the oven. Asked why, my now ruined expensive suit pants became a pot holder, she replied 'Thats what you use them for!'
I search fridge and freezer for all past and future offending food scraps. Careful to leave the frozen fruitcake from Aunt Tilley that's been there for three years, then away for two, only to be re-gifted back to us for an additional four years more.
Now waving and clapping my hands I make my way to the kitchen container. I look like a blessed, praising church - goer as I enter a small cloud of fruit flies. I affix both hands to its smooth exterior, careful not to slop any residue on my skin. It'll stain, burn and stink on contact, immediately, and for an extended period of time. Eye protection is a must! Now down a flight of stairs, opening two closed doors I reach the green cart outside. I clear a ten ft radius to pour the offending odor into the green cart. I open the lid of the kitchen container and my fruit fly herd triples in size as they try to escape my wifes meat loaf. I carefully pour out this offending odor, turning nose and eyes away, noticing all the lights at Toms house are off. Now it's off to the end of the driveway for tomorrows pick up.
I see Toms Blue Box is at the curb already. I go through his yellow and blue bag to see which one he used for the flyer ( I'm sure we both got one in the mail) made of cardboard and newsprint. No luck! It's not there. I try his phone again.
Several more trips to the end of the driveway conclude garbage eve. All garbage has been prepared and expelled less than one week from entering my abode.
The digital alarm clock shows the score all tied up at a dozen apiece as I lay in bed looking at the ceiling. I lay there wondering where my wife is and thinking back to my youth.
"Honey! It's garbage day tomorrow have you taken out the trash!?" My Mom would ask my Dad.
"I'll do it during the commercial!" was his reply. Two minutes done! Which is why I guess we are where we are today.
And then I think............., and then toss and roll and notice all the 2s on the clock. The wife's not home yet. I get up, put on my housecoat, outside to the Blue Box and retrieve my worrisome flyer. Back to the house, crumple it up and flush it down the toilet. Problem solved! Tomorrow I'll wipe up the water from the toilet over flowing and unclog the throne from its offending flyer.
I lay there, now at peace wondering why I never thought to separate the papers from the flyer. Silly me. S l e e p y...I hear a car...next door....Toms car....my wife tip toes into the room. I sit up and turn on the light, "Honey it's 2:30 in the morning! Do you know which bag Tom used for that stupid flyer!?"
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