Leading the world to ruin, one goldfish at a time

The Puddinette took the kids out for some inflatable-based fun yesterday in an effort to give them something to do. It did little besides rain this weekend, so we’d grown a little bored of the running about the house, screaming, yelling, and bickering routine. We felt it just a little played out and hoped maybe they could show us something new and fresh. Also, heads were going to roll if an activity of some kind wasn’t undertaken. Since she’s the Activity Queen, she got to chaperone the inflatables and I stayed home with The Attitude, since he’s just a wee too little still for the bounce-house.

So, in an attempt to be a Good Husband, I decided to mop the kitchen floor. While I was vacuuming the tile (yes, I vacuum the tile rather than sweep it; I’m lazy, and brooms suck in that they require both a dust-pan and leaning over) in preparation for some serious mop action, I came across a whole, unbroken, cheddar goldfish. The Attitude has a habit of announcing the completion of his meals with the two-fisted throwing of any unwanted foodstuffs across the kitchen area. I’m not talking a sly, dainty drop over the side of the tray here, either, no sir. He grabs two handfuls of whatever remains, lifts his paws over his head, and chucks with all his might. Sitting Presidents have thrown Opening-Day Pitches that didn’t have the level of concentration or effort he puts into his post-meal food-flinging.

So I see this goldfish, and I know it’s too big for our little lightweight upright vacuum to consume without choking. Now I have a problem; I’ve intentionally gone out of my way to avoid getting floor-level with the crap my son’s tossed down there, yet here I find I’m going to have to bend down, pick up the offending snack cracker, and walk it all the way across the room to the trash can. That would clearly add at least 45 seconds to my overall time-on-task. Unacceptable. This is why I need a dog.

Luckily, I’m male, which comes with several inherent benefits. Those include: 1) the reduced likelihood of cyclical craziness, 2) the inability to perceive more than 16 discernable colors, and 3) the ability to creatively solve complex problems without first have to have a good cry over it. And yes, this little goldfish was clearly a complex problem. I did mention the 45 seconds, right? Anyway, following a quick analysis and the creation of several charts and logic plots, I did the same thing any self-respecting man looking to avoid a trip to the trash would do, I employed my feet. Tasty cheddar goldfish cracker, meet right big toe. The ensuing crunch insured that I no longer had a piece of food too big for my vacuum. Puddin: 1, Extra-effort: 0.

I imagine some of you are sitting in judgment right now, disgusted with my obvious laziness. Go ahead, ladies, I welcome your condemnation! Where you see laziness, I see improvisation and adaptation, the overcoming of obstacles.

My brothers, the Men of the World, they stand with me. Yes, we might be lazy, but laziness is the mother of ingenuity. And it takes a lot of ingenuity to find time for 18 holes of golf.


%d bloggers like this: