Val Can Get it for You Wholesale

I'm kicking around a new invention. Not literally kicking. That's an aerobic activity, hard to perform from a chair in front of the computer in your dark basement lair.

But let's not put the cart before the horse. And I assure you, my invention is NOT a cart. You'll find out farther down the page. Hang onto the cliff a bit longer, you instant-gratification junkies! Patience is a virtue, and winding through one of Val's meandering posts is next to Mother-Teresa-ness.

This morning in the shower, I had the most scathingly brilliant idea for a submission. I'd like to think that inspiration flows into me through some other-worldly conduit. But I have a feeling it's just the thyroid medication kicking in. The idea was about how teachers support each other, have an unwritten code, how colleagues have your back, will give up their prep hour to fill in for you if an emergency arises. UNTIL IT COMES TO SUPPLIES. Not-Heaven hath no fury like a teacher filched from. They are on guard 24/7 for acts of pilferage.

So invested was I in this story of truth that I smiled at The Pony all the way to school, he in the seat behind me, oblivious to my Cheshire lippage. Listened with one ear to the plot of the new science fiction book he is writing (already has a prologue and two chapters), I gleefully invented new words in my head, set the scene, shouted the kicker in caps in my mind.

By seventh hour, I had forgotten the whole thing. All day long, I had been harboring my secret, not consciously thinking about it, just enjoying that warm glow knowing that after school and a bank trip and shopping for the week and grabbing a 44 oz. Diet Coke and carrying in and putting away all that stuff, I could put my true story on screen. Yet there I was, five minutes before the bell, drawing a blank. Oh, the inanity! I almost panicked. The whole circuitous trip home, I tried to backtrack. Get the feel. The mood. The ambiance of the tale. For some reason, my mom kept popping into my head. But I didn't think it was about her. She's not all that funny. I took myself back to the location. The kicker. AND IT HIT ME! I had my story back.

My new invention is for those who never get their story back. C'mon. Who has a little spiral notebook with them in the shower? Not me. It's out in the living room on the end table. A world away from the shower. Woe is the showering writer struck by a bolt of inspiration. I sensed a need. So I invented...drum roll please...

NOTES ON A ROPE!

Oh, yeah! A product whose time has come. Wear this waterproof little notebook around your neck, with its attached grease pencil. Never lose an idea again. For those who don't like wearing their bling au naturel, a variation comes as a memo board for the shower wall. With suction cups!

Race you to the patent office!