Today I am grateful for fun & games. Actually, Himself should be named “fun & games” because he is the poster child for them as witnessed by our last COSTCO visit. We were in a bit of a rush so I headed straight for the popcorn. Urgency for one is popcorn for another.
The problem came in when we had to walk past the “toys”. Himself doesn’t walk past toys, he walks right into them. . .and stays until he is dragged out like a four year old picking out a birthday gift. . .for himself. “Oh my God,” I made the mistake of saying. “Look at that blow-up rocket.” Have I learned a thing in 38 years? Nope. Off he went to really look at that rocket, eyes bugged, saying, “It’s big!”
Fifteen minutes later he sidled up to me, put his arm around me and whispered. I was immediately suspicious. Maybe I have learned a few things. “I could use money from my “toys” account to buy that rocket,” he said. “but I don’t have the card with me so I’d have to pay back the joint account.” Oh geeze! I asked how much it was. Nearly thirty bucks! For a stupid blow-up rocket.
We padded around picking up a few more things. As we were heading towards the checkout he looked at me over the top of those glasses. When you’re married as long as us you don’t need a lot of words. “Oh, OKAY!” I said. “Get the stupid rocket!” He didn’t quite run for it, but almost.
I shake my head a lot, but I get it. His son and significant other were visiting us, had gone to New Jersey to visit her relatives and would be back for a game night before heading back to Wisconsin. Shooting off rockets was something he and his kids had always done. Real rockets, not blow-ups, that disappeared into the ether and never returned. Might as well burn the money. But how could I deny him?
The next day when I came home from the Y, he had the behemoth blown up and standing in the kitchen. “Where are we going to do this thing?” I asked, certain it would wind up on a roof if we did it in our development and we’d get a letter from the association circling a “no rockets” clause.
“I’m thinking a school lot.” Himself had planned it out. “I don’t know if we should contact the police to tell them we’re firing it off or not. I have to save this orange juice jug and the olive oil jug for water because we need to bring it to fill the reservoir, cuz then you pump it and hit the thingy and off it goes!” He was like an excited toddler.
Our kids showed up and we all headed out to the open school ground for the big launch. It was hot and buggy, with clouds rolling in so I lasted about ten minutes in the field before I copped a squat on a bench, ready to be dazzled. The little one played on the playground and the die-hards prepared the “rocket”. I can’t include all of their one-liners here, but knowing my family you can imagine. My son’s head was exploding with them! Mine, too.
“You have to line it up and click it in,” Himself said. “Keep pumping! Faster! Harder!” were the shouts from the assemblage. Finally it was primed and ready to fly. “Stand back!” Himself shouted as he let her rip. Phhhhhsssssssstttttt – Pffffloppp! It went up high enough to just clear their heads and plummeted to the ground, like NASA’s worst nightmare. “Lansdale, we’ve got a problem!”
“I’m sure glad we found this big open field for this launch!” my son said as we all tried to catch air between hysterics. “Good thing all of those rooftops are so far away!” More hysterics. Words like rocket dysfunction, flaccid, premature. . .you get the picture. Too bad the police weren’t in attendance. They could probably use a chuckle.
Not deterred, Himself said, “Let’s try it again! I don’t think we had it hooked up right.” You think?
So they did, with his poor son pumping away, sweating like an Olympic marathoner and the rest of us kibitzing and laughing, with the little one asking if the rocket is going to fly? “Not too sure, honey,” I said. “It doesn’t look promising.” But it did. . .about 20 feet this time. . .far from the 150 feet advertised on the box. It is now in the shop in the basement undergoing analysis.
Games back at the house went better. Mostly because we were inside, there was air conditioning and no bugs. As high as that silly blow-up rocket went we could have set it off in the living room. I bet then it would have worked! And exploded all over my newly painted walls! Toys & games! Without them what’s the point? The laugh was worth the thirty bucks. I guess. However. . .
Public Service Announcement: Walk PAST that big rocket at COSTCO! We took the hit and you’re welcome.