Squirt Gun Season

Don’t you just hate supersoaker season? I am married to a man who measures his wealth in squirt guns.

When I said “Yes”, I was unaware of his clan’s proclivity for water fights. But that impression was quickly corrected after a season at his families cottage at the Cape. I have a vivid memory of my husband’s mother, standing on her porch, pleading with my husband and his brothers and sisters to please spare me, as I was eight months pregnant. It was then that I learned something else about my husband. He didn’t listen to his mother anymore than he listened to me. I think he soaked her. And me.

He has squirt guns of varies sizes hidden all over the house. On our trip down to the reunion he pulled one out of the drivers side pocket, holding the squirt gun in one hand and the wheel in the other. Of course, the only “rule” in water fights in the car, is “no shooting the driver.”

Supersoakers are also useful in family court. One afternoon, my middle daughter, Tracy, had accused her oldest brother, Josh, of locking her in the porch. Her brother adamantly denied the charge. My husband decided that a trial was in order. Josh was both defendant, and defending attorney. Tracy was the aggrieved party and chief prosecutor and my youngest son and I were assigned jury duty. My husband, of course, was the judge. Order in the court would be maintained by the squirt gun.

Tracy began her offence, and continued, and continued, and continued, detailing a long list of grievances in de-soto voice.

The judge interrupted. “The prosecuting attorney is offending me.” Squirt.

“No!” shrieked Tracy.”That’s not fair! What did I do? I object!”

“Objection overruled.” Squirt.

The jury giggled.

“No giggling in the courtroom!” Squirt. “The defendant looks too smug.” Squirt, squirt.

I think the defendant, the aggrieved party, and the jury were all declared guilty that day, and sentenced to community service, which consisted of mopping up the courtroom.

I am still a determined non-combatant despite the fact that after 19 years I should have figured out that this never helps me. Still, I was shocked when he brought his supersoakers to the church picnic.

It was a bucolic scene; Fathers and mothers, sipping punch and ice tea, sitting in armchairs, conversing quietly, and watching toddlers and teens at play in the pond, when the carnage began. I should have suspected when I asked my husband for a towel that was draped over something next to the grill that he manned, and he said. “Not that one.” But with the sky bright, and the words of the sermon still fresh in my mind who would have anticipated the chaos that was soon to ensue?

My husband apparently had this carefully planned. A friend walked up, and my husband brought out a relatively innocent looking object, a spray bottle.

“Here, Squirt me with it.”

It was the snake in the garden of Eden. Once he had picked up that bottle, his fate was sealed. My husband retaliated with his latest acquisition, an import from New Hampshire, that was hidden in a large bucket of water, under the towel. This gun is actually a giant pump. Although it requires a ready source of water, a single shot can blast out for 15 to 20 feet, with the force of a water hose. The friend was instantly soaked. The friends wife, a quick-witted lass, grabbed the second gun.

I screamed. “Not over the food, please not over the food!”

Well, it got ugly after that. And I take no responsibility for this. It is not my fault that I am married to this man. I certainly had nothing to do with those menaces to society.

What love? Ah…Why do you have that squirt gun pointed at me? What did I do? What do you want? What! The truth! What about literary licence? What do you mean, who bought the guns from that store in New Hampshire and put them in your hand? What does that have to do with anything? What do you mean the weapon’s procurer is just as guilty as the user? No, please….the computer…let me move first…this isn’t faiiiiiir…..

Leave a Reply

You can use these HTML tags

<a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>




This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.