Whitewashing Innuendos

I was on the top of a twenty foot ladder trying like heck to reach the top of the greenhouse with whitewash. The Blue Angels jet fighters were practicing above me, the sound deafening over my headphones. So much for listening to Janet Evanovich Twelve Sharp.

I was wearing a large floppy straw hat, headphones underneath, a plastic apron that touched my feet, dark sunglasses getting small spots of whitewash, and wellies, so getting up and down the ladder with a heavy sprayer was not easy. In order to see if I hit the right spot, I would race inside, look up, still see the sunlight stream in and scorch the plants.

No matter how high I could reach, or cling like spider man, I could NOT get the whitewash up to the peak.

One of the scientists at WATER saw me clinging to the greenhouse with the sprayer. He was very concerned, and he probably was right to be. The stories of my klutziness are not exaggerated. Like the good scientist he is, he suggested maybe the shop guys could rig up an extension to the sprayer so it would go farther.

And then he wouldn’t have to bury me at see.

Since my colleague had almost killed me when she called my cell, startling me with the whooga ring and vibrator, I thought this was a fine idea, we went to the shop. One of the guys looked at the sprayer, he waved over one of his co-workers and they discussed various plans.

“This is Mr. Pipe, he can do anything” I was assured.

“Besides everyone wants a longer rod.” The guys cracked up.

I looked over the narrow gauge tube and looked at them. “Actually, I prefer some width as well.”

The guys looked stunned, then laughed.

“Of course, then the white stuff might not come out as well.”

I thought they were going to choke to death. Hey, I can give as good as I get. I’ve worked with men a LONG time.

Anyhow, I was provided with a fancy copper extension I could bend any way I wanted. After all, it’s not the length or the width, sometimes it’s all in the technique.

I went out to the greenhouse, reloaded, and viola, a beautiful stream of whitewash arced out from the nozzle and landed exactly where I wanted it.

It was fabulous, except when I slipped a little, used my arm to catch myself, and ended up whitewashing over my sunburn. I think if I was going to whitewash like Zn Oxide, I should apply it first.

When I finished both sides, it was necessary to clean my equipment. I had my alconox, sponge, bottle cleaner, and hose at the ready. I turned on the hose, and it slipped between my legs and drenched my crotch.

Yup. I looked like I’d had a bad accident. Worse, it felt like that as well. I left the apron, the hat, the wellies on to go back into the building to use a dryer to dry off. Except, I realized, that I would need a chair to reach my crotch…and it would look really kinky.

I decided wet crotches weren’t the worst thing that could have happened.
Now I’m watching the weather. If it rains…I get to do it ALL again.

Where is Huck Finn when you need him?

Post script. When I went on vacation, the boss had to water. Guess I still didn’t reach far enough, he had to redo it. Next year in a cherry picker I guess.

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One thought on “Whitewashing Innuendos

  1. Reminds me of the day I dumped coffee on my shirt in the office, and went down to the gym locker-room to take it off, wash it in the sink, and then blow-dry it with the hair dryer. At least it wasn’t my crotch.

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