••• Wednesday, September 01, 2004

Hula Poop
It just keeps comin'round.

This past weekend at the cottage was pretty nice, despite the nasty weather and some other, ahem, issues. My in-laws doted on the Cakers, while Eric worked and I knit a bit. And worried a lot, about that that other matter. You know, the matter matter.*

Early Saturday afternoon, I happened upon a whisper fest between my husband and his parents. I didn't know what they were talking about until I heard my mother-in-law say, just above a whisper, "Well, can we flush or not?"

What???!??, said I.
Oh, nothing, she said, as all three exchanged don't feed the crazy lady glances.
Tell me! I shrilled.

My husband approached me in a gentle, calm manner, much as one would the mentally infirm or the divorcee in the throes of a Bacardi Limon psychosis as she dangles your only set of Cobra Mustang keys over a sewer drain.**

He then held me by the shoulders, looked me square in the eye and said "The alarm went off. The tanks are full. We're at defcom 4."

I'll spare you the remaining details of that particular exchange. I will say, however, that it was more than alarming to learn that a heavy rainfall can cause water to pool in the poop chopper. Apparently poop choppers, dukey tanks and related alarm systems don't know shit from rainola.

So, in addition to prevalent preoccupations with salmonella and e-coli and cottage guests with compulsive flush disorders, I now have to be concerned about pissing off mother nature.

My father-in-law quickly (too quickly?) made the call to our guy. After a brief exchange of info(including the query regarding how many people are pooping in the house) our guy assured him we could hold it until Monday. While we didn't speak of it again for the rest of the weekend, neither did anyone shower or run the dishwasher, or spit.

Truthfully, I think everyone was a little nervous, which somehow made me feel less a case.

Who You Calling a CoHo?
To keep our minds out of the sewage, we headed into town, to the Annual Coho Festival, where the highlight of the day was the Annual Coho Festival parade.

First of all, I am a happily married woman. But being happily married doesn't preclude me from an active fantasy life. Right?

That being said, this bad boy on parade immediately captured my fancy. I mean, honey, you can do burnouts on my lawn patch any time.

But quickerin I could say "Deere John" my father-in-law nudged and whispered..."there's our guy."

Mmmmm..be still my whizzin' heart. Right then and there, I decided I was a little old for riding bitch on a souped up lawn tractor.

Right then and there, I decided my next Secret Fancy is gonna be about power.
Big, strong, long, round, reliable power. Pumping power. All at the drop of a dime. ::Get a load of that hose...sigh::

Okay, this cornball parade has one last corner to round. So bear with.

And what would the Coho Festival be without the Coho Queen and her court? (My husband thought there should be two queens for some reason.)

For the record, being the Queen of the CoHo festival is not just about the glamour and prestige, although there is plenty of that. What folks don't realize is that being the Coho queen also involves great personal sacrifice.

You see, at the completion of the parade, this float is pulled directly to the Queen's birthplace, where she will spawn and..well..I just can't say it. Too tragic.

I guess it's time to roe this boat ashore.

Humpy Wednesday!

*See August 19 post for context.
**To this day, I believe that Bacardi Limon is laced with angel dust.

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