So, I love flowers. They make me happy. They make me feel good. I’m convinced they make the world a far better place. I have only in recent years become any good at growing them, and not just buying them. I started a garden from scratch a few years ago, in my small front area, after I woke up to the smell of sewage and found that our sewage tank from the age of the Salem Witch trials, had given out, and we had to join the city’s hook up, which meant digging up the entire garden area in front of my house. Years of pre-existing perrenials went to their death, and no I wasn’t able to save them, because this shit event happened smack in the middle of a freezing cold and snowy January (the week before my birthday–a lovely gift I do not recommend). Anywho, the point–that Spring, I got to start from the beginning and really choose what I wanted in there, and with the help of a landscaper, my little plot of dirt became a little sliver of awesomosity.

But. There’s often a but, isn’t there?

The watering situation has always been dismal. The hookup to the house is in the backyard. A long stretch of hose must find its way to the front. It follows a path behind the garbage cans and under the front porch. That all sounds great, except for the hose situation springs several leaks, no matter how many times I replace it. Leaving me, soaking wet when I water, unable to get to the whole garden, and constantly worried about my flowers. And there’s more, I am always fighting with the hose. We are like wrestlers, that hose and moi. I tug and unravel, and it sits there, all stiff, or all tangled (I have a regular version in the backyard and a twisty, turny guy in the front) with the attitude of a pissed off teenager. (Do you feel me now?) And as if the leaks aren’t bad enough there are the kinks to tame, when the water just stops and I have to go find exactly where the bend in the road is. I am constantly complaining to Peter about my hose problems. He patiently ignores me.

But yesterday something rather extraordinary happened. Peter came home with something called a Pocket Hose. Now admittedly I miss a lot of good commercials because I don’t watch sports, so my reaction to this thing was not equal to the pomp and circumstance my husband made when he unveiled what he had bought for me. (By the event he made of it, I thought, how could he have bought me jewelry at Bed, Bath & Beyond?) He was surprised by my lack of enthusiasm as he unveiled this chartreuse green hose that looked to me like some sort of kid’s toy. He was shocked I was not familiar with the Pocket Hose, as it apparently is on tv all the time. I basically  thought he’d thrown away $19.99 to give me a good laugh, and kept doing my work, which I was doing in front of the air conditioner in the den BECAUSE IT WAS LIKE A BAJILLION DEGREES YESTERDAY. A few minutes later, he screamed my name from the backyard, and I ran out to see the Pocket Hose in action. Ok, even if you just want to use this as a party trick, it’s money well spent, but the thing is, this thing works! It addresses all of my hose misery. Check out this Consumer Report video on the Pocket Hose (and all the other flexible hoses out there.) I’m telling you, this little miracle might actually convince me to watch sports just for the commercials–WHY DIDN’T ANYBODY TELL ME ABOUT THIS HOSE SOONER?)

Ok, first of all, it starts out all small and wrinkly and you turn on the water, and it grows like those tablets you used to set on fire that would turn into ashy snakes (Member those–GOD I LOVED THOSE. I CAN’T IMAGINE WHY, BUT I WAS TOTALLY OBSESSED WITH THEM.) And this thing is light as a feather. No fighting, no need for a daily tug of war, it just travels with you wherever you walk. I’m not kidding, I would like to be the poster child for this product. It’s the best thing since the french fry.

So, today it’s all hail gratitude for the Pocket Hose. I’m telling you, this thing deserves a week of gratitude! And if you’ll excuse me, now I’m going to water.