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June 18, 2006 In certain "seasonal" parts of the USA, (you know, the ones with cold weather at least 6 months of the year), there is an beginning-of-summer ritual that takes place immediately before Memorial Day. It is a day that makes women cringe and men curse. It is solemnly called "The Opening of the Pool." Most wives will willingly pay a fortune rather than have their husbands perform this ritual by themselves. Most husbands will readily agree to pay a large fee to anyone who frees them from this merciless obligation. However, occasionally, a man will fool himself into thinking that he, and he alone, can perform the task set before him. This is the story of one of those disasters in seven easy steps Step one: Go outside, look at pool, take a deep breath as you determine that this year you will not fork over money to some seventeen year-old know-it-all to come and open your pool. Think of what you need. "Write" the list in your head. You only need a few things; how hard can it be to remember them in a short twenty minute drive? Go inside, tell your wife not to call that loud-voiced, smirking, smart assed kid, Timmy, who works at the pool place to come open the pool this year. You see no reason to shell out money to him when it looks simple enough for you to do. Tell her you've been watching him for two years and you know what to do. Also tell her not to go outside near the pool because you have drained some of the excess water out of it and the backyard may be "just a little bit muddy." Kiss her and tell her, "I'm off to the pool supply place, honey! Don't worry, I know what to get." Ignore scared, worried look on her face as you go. Step two: Pull into the parking lot of the pool store, forget what the heck you came for, go home, make an excuse to your wife that you forgot your wallet. Go into the bathroom and secretly write down what you need while glancing out window at pool. Give her a kiss and go back to the pool store. Enter pool supply store. Act like you really know what you are doing. Walk around and examine "things." Pretend you know exactly how to use them. Furtively pull out list and read it. Try to find items without asking for help. Listen enviously to two macho tattooed guys talk about two and one half plug monitors and ditumatious earth systems versus slip filters. Tell yourself you wasted four years in college studying to become a teacher because they know how to close the pool and you were stupid enough to only learn the history of the entire world. When tattooed guys go to carry stuff to their truck, buy the ditumatious earth system and the slip filter. Smile when the girl at the counter says, "You're opening the pool this year? Does your wife know? Does Timmy?" When she asks you what type of clamp you need to close the hose, either a three and a quarter or a two and three eights, impress her and get the bigger one. (Hey, it's a man thing, okay?) When she asks if you're sure you want the bigger one, wink and say "absolutely!" (The tattooed men have come back in and you don't want them thinking you need the smaller one, now, do you?) Step three: Come home, find out you should have gotten the two and three eights clamp and that neither the ditumatious earth system nor the slip filter are what your pool needs. Call the pool place, tell an outright lie about why you got the wrong filter and system, saying "my wife picked up the wrong things." Politely ask them to tell you what you really need. Stay calm when they ask you for the "pool system code," which, they tell you, is located on the side of the pool motor; tell them to hang on while you go outside and look for it. After crawling around on your hands and knees in the mud left by the pool drainage, and being unable to read the code because the chlorine from the drainage has erased most of it, go back inside and tell them you can't find it. Feel really stupid when your wife, who has overheard the conversation, gives you the number which was on the direction package for the motor assembly and which she kept in the shed "just in case." Step four: Make third trip to pool store, exchange the ditumatious earth system and the slip filter for the desensitized sand filtration equalizer device and the smaller clamp. Do not make eye contact with the girl at the register when she says, "You got the wrong clamp and filter? Timmy would've gotten the right one." Refrain from repeating the lie about your wife. On the way out, buy some bacteria and fungi killing water treatment that is guaranteed to "totally destroy anything remotely suspicious in your pool." Forget to read directions about potential danger to humans and animals. Step five: Spend two hours stuck in Saturday traffic after you leave the pool place, get home, order a pizza, and get to work. Tell your wife that you figure you'll be done by the time the pizza arrives. Pretend not to hear her sigh deeply. Hurry outside and try to work quickly because you are starving. In your haste, rip open package, sneeze from the dust of the powdered chemicals that explode towards your face. Accidentally rub left eye when it begins to water from the powder, yell for your wife, run into the house to splash water in your eye. Wait anxiously as wife calls poison control who tells her to wash out your eye with saline solution and gallons of water. Listen as the poison control expert, who your wife has put on speaker-phone, says: "That should do the trick, ma'am. No, he won't go blind, his eye will swell up and water like hell, but he'll be alright. And, excuse me for asking, but why is he closing the pool himself? I always make my husband get some kid to do it. Worth the money, believe me." After your wife gets off the phone with poison control, feel like an idiot as she reads the warnings on the label of the water treatment package, that you didn't bother to read, especially the one that says: "May cause blindness if abrasive substance gets into eyes." Refrain from saying something like, "What kind of idiot would get that stuff in their eyes?" because you already know what kind of idiot would. Step six: Go outside and try to unscrew the old clamp. Cut yourself because you can only see out of one eye; the other is watering like a monsoon during the busy season. Curse loudly as you fall on your butt in the muddy water draining from the pool. Refrain from screaming at your wife who has come outside and asked, "Honey? Do you think you're draining too much water from the pool? The yard looks kind of flooded." Turn with a mixture of pleasure and horror when you hear the words, "Pizza's here!" Pleasure, because you're starving, and horror, because the kid sauntering through your garden gate with the double pepperoni, extra cheese pizza, is none other than Timmy. Wince as he shouts: "Hey, Mr. H! How's it goin'? Openin' the ol' pool, huh?" Face Timmy with your good eye and wonder why he's so loud. Gesture that everything is great and that you're too busy for idle conversation. Pretend you know exactly what you're doing. Tell Timmy, over your shoulder, that you didn't know he worked for the pizza place. "Actually, Mr. H, delivering for Tony's Pizza Palace is my second job. Gotta save money for a car. I'm getting my license in two months. Woo-hoo!" Ignore smart-ass, cocky look on his face. Stand there in the mud, with your eye watering like crazy and think: "Timmy's going to be driving? Legally?" Remember to warn your wife that Timmy is getting his license. Also remind yourself not to order from Tony's Pizza Palace any more. Ask Timmy to bring the pizza inside and "Mrs. H" will pay him. Fall on your butt in the mud five minutes later, when Timmy startles you by sneaking up on your "blind" side and yelling: "Hey! Mr. H? Mrs. H asked me to ask you if you need any help. She says your pizza's getting cold." Tell him you're doing just fine, no problem, as you wipe your eye with your hand. Excuse yourself while you go inside to get tissues. Spend fifteen minutes searching for the tissue box you swear you bought last week and find them where your wife said they were in the first place. Wolf down a slice of cold pizza. Come out with a ball of tissues clutched to your face, because now your nose is running in sympathy with your watering eye. "Hey Mr. H! I connected the sand filtration equalizer with the motorized anti-spastic synchronizer and clamped the hose. I hope you don't mind." Try not to show your shock at the fact that Timmy did in fifteen minutes what it would take you fifteen hours to do. Remember the pizza waiting in the kitchen for you and nod yes, wiping your eye and blowing your nose, when Timmy offers to put the cover on the pool. Step seven: Admit defeat to yourself and think that at least you learned the history of the entire world! What do you think of that, Timmy my boy! Take out your wallet and give Timmy double what you normally would pay him. Go inside, reheat your pizza, veg-out on the couch, and watch the pre-game show. Two hours later as you're watching a baseball game with your good eye, hear the doorbell ring. Half listen to your wife have a whispered conversation and hear her say, "Oh, that's so sweet of you, really!" Be surprised when she comes in and hands you a wad of bills she just got from Timmy. Note that it's the same amount you paid him and ask why he returned it. "He told me he can't take your money. Not after today." "What? Why not?" "He told me he hates to see grown men cry." "Cry!? What made him think I was…No, wait, I wasn't crying! My eye was watering from those damn chemicals! Let me give him his money back. Where is he?" "He already left to go close the Bittingers' pool, honey. Mr. Bittinger almost electrocuted himself trying to fix the motor. But Timmy gave me something for you." "What is it?" "A piping hot sausage and meatball, extra cheese pizza from Tony's. He says he hopes it makes you stop crying." Sigh deeply. Eat the pizza and think, "God bless us, every one… even that smart-@ss Timmy!" ------------ About the author: Kristen Houghton is the editor for "Marriage" at BellaOnline.com Her new book, "©2006 Life With a Husband and Other Fearless Adventures" will be in book stores next year. Kristen's articles have appeared in "Tango: The Magazine for Relationships," NewsItalia, and New Jersey Magazine. Email: Krisnalan@aol.com Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com. 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