"There’s got to be a better way," I muttered, as I threw the tangled hose back into the grass. I surveyed it, nestled in the camouflage of a very green lawn. Now, wait a minute, I thought out loud, that’s not going to work. I knelt over, struggling with the verdant heap, and threw it to my left. Thud! It sprawled in definite contrast to the dazzling shine of my front yard sidewalk.

"Um-m-m," I smiled, and started to scan for the other end of the hose. I walked slowly, circling the green mass. Maybe the grass wasn’t going to get watered, after all.

Just as I was about to give up, I remembered what a friend had once told me. When you’ve got yards and yards of hose, and just don’t want to be bothered, just turn the water on. It’ll let you know where you’re at. Why didn’t I think of that before, I mumbled as I stepped back a couple of paces to give the spigot a determined twist.

Dammit," I yelled at the huge tallow tree as a sudden gust of wind blew a low-hanging leafy branch across my face. Life sure can be pure hell sometimes. I looked at the sidewalk, now a glistening wetness in the mid-afternoon sun. I scanned for a spout, a gush, a stream of water. Nothing. Just benign wetness.

After strolling around my enemy one full loop, I lifted my right foot and kicked the curled mass. Abruptly, it spat at me as I uncovered a leak near a loose joint section of hose. A persistent stream of water sprang almost three feet into the air—and into my face! I ducked and stepped back, darting my eyes once more over the spouting hose, then turned to shut off the water. I really did not want to water my lawn.

I knew what the problem was. I also realized what I had been trying to avoid. This time I started at the other end—the faucet end where the hose was tightly attached and couldn’t get away from me. Once again I moved the long, tubular, rather inflexible hose over my wet hands.

After 20 yards of moist pieces of grass and dirt had raked my palms, I came to the elusive, silvery nozzle. It was so easy, but doggonit, it wasn’t the way most people proceed with a relatively humdrum task.

Maybe next time. . .

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MAGOO AND COMPANY
Ó 1999 by Dorothy H. Stiefel

I think I shrunk this morning. My image in the bathroom mirror told me things I didn’t like. I wasn’t like this yesterday. I wasn’t skinny like this even three hours ago!

Something very strange happened at the grocery store, too. Hubby and I went into Sun Harvest to pick up a few items, and everyone else seemed … well, they appeared to not be full-sized people! I realize that this doesn’t make sense but the scenario was simply smaller, even the produce. I walked over to the veggie counter and picked out four zucchini. Nice. Slender, the way I like them. At the checkout counter I couldn’t write a check. Gee … I don’t need my checkbook shrinking on me, too!

All the way home I saw mostly compact cars on the road - at least they all seemed to be less ominous, especially when one scooted in front of us from nowhere. When we got home, Hubby fast-stashed the vittles in the fridge so I could sit down and watch General Hospital. Hmmm. Those people haven’t lost weight (but then again, they don’t need to.) During a commercial I rushed to take a look at the current day "shrinking woman" in the bathroom mirror. Hmmm. I look positively skinny.

"Hey, honey! Come here a minute!

Hubby stuck his head around the corner. "What?"

"Am I skinny?"

"You’ve always been skinny, said the 200-lb. love of my life. I went back to surveying my new persona. I would have to work on this face now that I had kicked the coke bottle bifocals. Aside from hazel eyes, nothing else looked like.... well, like what my reflection had been casting back to me every day for the last five years. Finally, it dawned on me.

Aha! Magoo Spectaculars have done a perception number on me! Well, whataya know ....

Wearing contact lenses is no big deal, but I have a problem with perception. I don’t know which is better - glasses that make my world larger so I can see it better, or contacts that show off the rest of my puss that’s been covered by "coke bottle" lenses. As the saying goes, there’s an advantage to everything.

Take my diet, for instance. I’ve been deluded into thinking I was - well, kind of hefty. So, I watch what I eat and my weight is average. Now that I’ve been living a rather small lie, will I eat more? Drink more of my favorite Australian wine? Mirrors don’t lie, but all reflections after party time are a reassuring blur.

Even my dishes look small. No wonder Hubby takes two helpings! Will I eat two bowls of cereal instead of one? And what about bread? The slices are so tiny! Will I consume four instead of two slices of toast in the morning? The thought of food reminded me of the veggies we had bought, and I hurried to the fridge. I yelled "Honey!" into the vegetable bin and he mimicked my harried tone: "What?"

"Where did these come from?"

"What?"

"The cukes!"

"You told me to get them! You said they were better than the big ones.

I looked at them again... closely. "Honey, these are not small - not these, and there are four of them, not two."

"What’s the matter with you? Hubby sounded irritated. "Those are the zucchini you picked out yourself. I wondered why you picked out such big ones. You get upset when I do. Make up your mind!"

Magoo Spectaculars vs. contact cellophane stick-ons ... got to admit that they give you options in life. You can get thin quickly; no guilt, no dieting, no extra expense - no hassle, and get through doorways more easily ("It’s a small world for a time; or you can fatten up, blow up your image and hit door jambs again - all in the blink of an eye (or two.)

As for me, the See Saw Saga of Magoo and Company continues.

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From the 1981 RP Messenger Archives

INDELIBLE INDIGNITY