Real men own power washers
My neighbor has this little old steam engine boat parked in his driveway. Think "The African Queen" meets a toy tug boat. Except no leeches, Bogart or Hepburn. Just me, him and the neighbors going about our Saturday chores.
Well, this past Saturday, he was getting it ready for the upcoming 4th of July festivities. So, he breaks out this implement of destruction, also known as a power washer. Well, he starts blasting his boat with rocket propelled water streaming from a fire hose-like device to the point that I thought he might blow a hole right in the side of the old girl. The assault was reminiscent of a man armed with an AK-47 as opposed to soap and water. I was amazed. And a tad frightened.
Mesmerized, in a semi-hypnotic state, I crossed the street and ambled into his yard where a small gathering of the neighborhood men had already convened to support him in the manliest of tasks - power tool usage. Some smoked cigarettes, some grabbed a beer from his cooler, but mostly we just watched him annihilate bottom algae while we thought to ourselves, "Take that you single-celled bastard. You protozoan P.O.S. Die, algae, DIE!"
The other men on my street seemed more familiar with the process and asked him informed questions along the lines of, "How many P.S.I. does that little puppy have?" or "Does it super-heat the projected water first?"
"Where'd you get it," I blurted out over the thunderous sound of water rhythmically pounding fiberglass gunwales, still amazed at this machine? "Did ya' have to get a license first," thinking to myself 'I must have one of these power washers.'
And with that question, he released his grip on the trigger and the ear shattering noise came to an abrupt halt.
All eyes were on me.
"Oh, of course, Home Depot," I whispered, trying to recover.
But the damage was done.
The other men imperceptibly shifted away from me and toward the man wielding the power tool.
Realizing my presence was no longer necessary, I shuffled back to my own yard, noticing the moss on my cedar shingles that have sadly never seen the business end of a power washer.
I sat down at my fancy-pants little laptop with its full QWERTY keyboard and I wrote my 4th of July piece for ITPR - the website for women with Extreme Mofosity.
I longed for the days I was a real man.