You're All Wet

Flirtatious: "What's that you got on your shirt?"

Real Mood? "Cool"

Prediction: Lance Armstrong will win "Le Tour de France," and as he rides along the Champs Elyse his shirt will be wet.

"By Golly" it worked.

In my neighborhood growing up we protected ourselves from disappointment by predicting circumstances were going to be just the opposite of how we wanted them to develop.

For instance, if we want the Rams to win we declare they don't have a chance against the Bears. Secretly we hope Norm Van Brocklin will hit Tom Fears in the end zone to win the game in the fourth quarter.  But we were able to save face by saying, "oh, we knew the Bears were just too tough" if it didn't happen.

Now if Tom Fears came through, we calmly declare we jinxed the Bears by predicting they'd win.

Sure it's dancing around reality. Sure it's a juvenile way of giving yourself status and power.  And Sure we outgrow it, right? I don't think so.

When you say, "I think it's going to be another Hot One!" what are you thinking?  Could it be, "Man I hope it cools off today."

Let's try some more. Statement after returning from vacation: " I know all that paperwork on my desk is still going to be sitting there with another inch piled on."  Secret thought?  "I  hope somebody saw that pile and at least filed those invoices for me."

Statement before showing up to see an action movie on Friday night: " I know its just going to be a lot of stupid car chases with no plot, no socially redeeming value." Secret thought? " I hope this one lives up to it's trailers. I really do think Scorcese can turn this one into a believable slice of life."

If I haven't pushed your button yet, here it  comes. It hasn't rained for a month: "You know I washed the car today. Darn! That probably means it's going to rain."

If you're over sixteen and tell me you've never said that I think you're lying to me.  Secret thought? "I washed the car. What more do you want from me! Please God, let it rain!"

Well it's been close to a month since we've had rain around here. The car wash trick hasn't been working. So I'm nosing around the house looking for some other jinx gimic. I want to combine it with some get something done today task.

I've been counting the number of comfortable summer shirts my wife won't let me wear in public because they have some little food stain on the front of them. Does your significant other nag you about that stuff?  Well, the count was higher than I thought, about 20 of them.  So anyway I line them up and pour a ton of stain remover all over them and pop them in the wash. That's about mid day and when the machine finishes it's final spin it's starting to get a little warm again. "Boy wouldn't it be nice if we could cool things off with a little rain."

There wasn't a meteorologist in a five state region predicting any rain. So what could I do to jinx it.

There's probably not ten of you under 50 that can relate to this. There was a time, no kidding, when the only clothes dryer on the  Planet was the Sun. We had something called clothes lines. Our mothers or our sisters hung all the washed clothes on those lines and kept them there with clothes pins. Men were not allowed anywhere near the laundering of clothes in "those days." We just used the T shaped posts holding them up to do "pull ups."

So I don't have an official clothes line. But I remember it was really tough to get your clothes dry in the rainy season. It could be a couple of days before you could pull off a dry tee shirt. Well, it was worth a try.

I used our electronically controlled awning arm as my clothes line. The sun is beating down, and by all rights all my shirts should be dry in about 20 minutes. In about 5 minutes Peggy walks in the door. It's her last day at work, and she was let out the door early. It took her maybe another 3 minutes to notice the shirts hanging from the awning, and another two after that to throw a "tizzy fit."

"Yeah, but they smell so fresh when they dry outside."

"No they don't. And they come out brittle. And they are heavy when  they are wet and they are probably going to break the awning."

Secretly I want to say, "but don't you want it to rain?"

Well along comes compromise. I pull in the awning and run  a broom through the top of two deck chairs and re-hang the shirts there. Peggy can't see it but about two inches of the hems are now dragging on the dusty deck floor.

With the compromise in place I suggest we go run a few errands. And after the errands? "Can I take you to dinner in celebration of your last day of work."

"Okay. You gonna bring the shirts in?"

"Naw. They'll be alright."

On our errand run I see some pretty interesting clouds off to the West. But we've been seeing these clouds every afternoon for some time now. They typically spit out a little lightning and mumble a few rumbles. But they have no wetness. As we and other citizens are going about our business there is little hope, even thought, that anything is going to get wet. But what they don't know is that I have 20 damp, almost dry shirts,  hanging outside on the deck. The jinx is on.

Errands completed, we are sitting in the Cheesecake Factory. I'm having fish tacos, and Peggy some exotic chicken sandwich. The food is good, but the air conditioning is better. We are dreading a trip back into the dry heat. The Waitress stops by to announce she's leaving and some guy who just spilled a bottle of catsup all over himself would be taking over. Then she looks up out of the corner of her eye and blurts out, "It's raining! How will I ever get to my car."  Secret thought? "I can't wait to get out there and dance in it."

This is all well and good, but we are a good ten miles from home. There is no guarantee our neighborhood is cooled off by this  blessing from heaven. We drive home looking for any pooling of liquid and its spotty. Just blocks away from home the streets and lawns appear to have discouraged any sprinkling. But the real test is yet to come.  My shirts have been out on the line long enough to dry twice. Will they or won't they?  The garage seems a little cooler as we pull in.  The house temp is down as least ten degrees. I rush to the deck and reach out to touch a wonderfully, sopping wet, still stained on the front tee shirt. 

It worked. Tom Fears caught the pass. And I just tossed all the shirts back in the dryer.  Tommorrow I'm going to try washing the car again.