My brand new-to-me car got a little dirty in the drought, but now I can wash it. The sparkle of diamonds will have nothing on my Volvo after I get done dousing that thing. After all, I got told by California American Water I should pay more because I used less of it during the drought. Might as well get my money’s worth.
And how I missed those long, luxurious showers myself. It’s not just the new car. I remember how the hot water felt like needles on my shoulders, massaging the stress into nothingness, while the bathroom disappeared in a mist of steam. I remember it like it was yesterday, but really it’s been years. It may be just one of a series of long showers, as I plan to get my money’s worth for a good long time, but that first one will be like Christmas morning.
I’ll probably read less thanks to all this water I pay to use. I won’t have time to sit around. The cost of books will shoot up as a result, which will somehow raise my Netflix bill. I may eat less too, especially after I make a new pool in the backyard. Swimming will cause me to lose weight, hence an increase in my grocery bill. I’ll fill water bottles, more than I need, and walk to the coffee shop instead of driving my diamond-clean car. That will bring up gas prices. Thanks to my walking shoes, the cost of slippers will skyrocket.
And the puppies will be so clean and downy soft, but first they’ll be nice and muddy thanks to the bog I plan to make out back with my once-dried up garden hose. The puppies have never known what it’s like to play in water bogs from a running hose. Most dogs don’t, at least not since the early 1980s. But mine will. I’m paying for it after all.
Thanks for the drought, Mother Nature, or whoever you are. And thank you, Cal Am, for making us wish we’d never conserved.