As Father’s Day approaches, families are desperately searching for something to buy the family patriarch. My latest epiphany provides the perfect give that every dad will adore: The Thing That Doesn’t Break.
In my house, men and women are created equal, except when it comes to fixing things. Somehow, I am the one expected to handle all repair projects, particularly the plunging of the toilet.
To compound the problem, today’s cheaply made consumer goods have a tendency to break down – like, all the time. At one point this past weekend, mired in mid honey-do list, I cried out to the gods, “What I wouldn’t give to have just one thing that always worked.”
Then it hit me: I would invent The Thing That Doesn’t Break. Something that never failed, never needed fixing, and most importantly, never required that I move from the couch.
If I could invent such a product, not only would I be hero to all mankind, I would also have enough cash to hire people to fix all my other crap that doesn’t work.
Working feverishly, pausing only for lunch, dinner, and to watch a rerun of Hee-Haw, I soon had my invention. I picked up the phone, and called my neighbors. Time to ring up my first sale.
Bill and Jeff, both weary from their own miserable fix-it workloads, stopped by my garage, where my Thing That Doesn’t Break was on display.
Jeff raised a discerning eyebrow. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s a rubber band taped to a piece of plywood.”
“It is indeed,” I replied.
“Well what’s it do?”
“Nothing. Which is why it won’t break. If you use a rubber band, it has a good chance of breaking. My invention is different. Because it’s affixed to a unique plywood base, this rubber band is basically unusable. Thus, it will never break, nor ever need to be replaced.”
I put my hands on their shoulders for added emphasis and dramatic effect. “Bottom line, my friends: You never have to fix it. EVER.”
The words blasted them like a bucket of ice cold water. “We’ll take it,” they cried out, brandishing cash and ear-to-ear grins.
Breaking the Unbreakable
Within a week, I’d sold thousands of Things That Don’t Break. Soon men were spending entire weekends on the couch, thanks to hours of non-fixing freetime generated by the Thing That Doesn’t Break. I was hailed as one of the most brilliant inventors of our time, and joined the ranks of Edison, Tesla, and the guy who came up with Manwich.
But, as you would expect, my brilliant epiphany went awry. Who should trash my triumph? Why the ladies of the house, of course.
Peeved that her honey-do list had been hijacked, some woman in New Jersey took the The Thing That Doesn’t Break and broke the plywood over her hubby’s head. Video of her uprising spread quickly across YouTube, and soon men were being clobbered from coast-to-coast.
Men, seeing that their Thing That Doesn’t Break was now broken, demanded refunds. I, seeing that my wife had spent all my proceeds from Thing That Doesn’t Break on new items destined to be in need of repair, fled the country to avoid jail-time and plywood beatings.
I commandeered a boat and sailed to a little deserted island in the middle of the Pacific. I have no electricity, no water, no nothing, but my days are happy. I have nothing to do because nothing breaks. Peace, quiet and not a honey-do list in site. What more could a father want?
Photo: Oskar Karlin