Sunday, I was standing in a small hardware store about fifteen minutes from my house, looking for some plumbing supplies my husband had sent me to retrieve. It seemed simple enough until he called and added one more thing — a certain type of hose, a water supply thing for the toilet (which we were having to replace). I was standing in an aisle of about 50 billion hoses, however, all very confusing, many of them without labels as to whether or not they supplied water… (I mean, seriously, isn’t the definition of “hose” something that supplies water?) That’s when I asked him to describe it so I could narrow down the field of possibilities.

I had to make him describe it twice. I thought he was kidding. He assured me he was serious.

I still couldn’t find it.

“Ask someone there for help.”

“As soon as I see an actual human, I will.”

“And be sure to tell them the description so they give you the right one.”

“I am not telling them I need a little hose in the shape of a sperm with a long tail.”

“But that’s what it looks like.”

“I don’t care.”

Then, I found it. Shoved to the back of one little area, not labeled, but it definitely fit the description. As luck would have it, an actual human male happened along, a guy about fifty-five or so.

“Anything I can help you with?” he asked.

“Oh, no,” I said, sort of hiding the sperm hose behind my back, “I think I’ve found it, thanks.”

He looked at what I was holding and said, “Oh, these over here are better. Much less likely to leak.”

Well, if there’s anything you don’t want, it’s a leaky sperm hose, right? So I look over the new fangled version he was showing me and noticed there wasn’t a “sperm” head on it. And since I wasn’t about to explain my husband’s name for it, I pointed to the end of the hose I was holding and said, “That one doesn’t have an end like this. Apparently, that’s quite important to my husband.”

“Oh, it’s here all right,” he said, and tipped the hose so I could see inside the connector dohickey. “See? This connector seals it tight. No leaks.”

So, yay. No leaky sperm hose in my bathroom. A very good thing.

Except I get home with it and proudly show it to my husband, who says it was the wrong one. He needed the other one.

“But this one has a sperm head on it!” I said, a little too loudly as my 19-year-old son sort of seizured in the other room.

“But it doesn’t have the tail. I needed the one with the tail.”

“So the tail part was the important part?”


“So why didn’t you just say you needed the one with the dome top and the long tube with nothing on the end of it?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”