Obsessed with Measuring

My husband is having an affair … with a plastic cylinder attached to our deck railing.

I’ve come to realize in the last few months that my husband is in love with his rain gauge. He’s been carrying on and on about his instrument for measuring precipitation for some time, but last night, the romance between a man and his pluviograph reached a passionate peak.

It rained and rained and rained last night. For hours, it poured relentlessly. Lightening flashed. Hail slammed against the windows. Thunder crashed. As I attempted to fall asleep despite Mother Nature’s exhaustive efforts to keep me up all night, my husband slipped out of bed and padded to the kitchen. I heard the door to the deck open up. I yelled, "BE CAREFUL OUT THERE, DOROTHY! IF YOU GET LOST, LOOK FOR THE YELLOW BRICK ROAD!"


I sighed. I had recently read that the first known records of rainfalls were kept by the Ancient Greeks around 500 B.C. I’m just guessing that these records were not kept by women, as they were too busy doing important things like sleeping. Due to a lack of technology, I’m pretty sure that during a rainstorm, the men just held their hands out, captured some water, and yelled to the women (who were trying to sleep), "Looks like we got about half an inch tonight!" The women then did the appropriate thing and cooed, "Oh honey, you are soooooo good at measuring things!"

In 1441 A.D., a Korean scientist, who happened to be a guy, developed the first official rain gauge. In 1662 A.D. another scientist … you guessed it … a guy … developed an even better rain gauge. You get the picture. Since the beginning of time, men have been obsessed with recording rainfall. Some of these men actually go to school for many years (mostly just to learn how to spell "meteorologist ") and decide to measure precipitation for a living.

A couple of minutes later, the deck door slammed and my husband came back to bed, smelling like a wet dog, but obviously thrilled as he announced, "According to my calculations, we have already received 1.85 inches of rain. And it’s still coming down!"

"Honey," I said in my best it’s-time-to-stop-this-nonsense voice, "Why do you love to measure rain so much?"

"I guess it’s the farmer in me," he replied as he rolled over and went back to sleep.

As I closed my eyes, I shuddered as I remembered the ad I had seen in the newspaper the other day and then quickly hid from my husband before he noticed it. Advertised in a huge, colorful splash on the page two of the sports section was a new wireless rain gauge that did so much more than measure rainfall like my husband’s flimsy old plastic cylinder. This rain gauge reported results back to a wireless monitoring station, tracked seven days of rainfall collections, and even had a temperature sensor. The worst part? It even had a remote.

The only way my husband is going to find out about that wireless rain gauge is if I read the instruction manual and learn that piece of equipment can do the dishes, dust the house, and cook dinner.

I hear it’s supposed to storm again tomorrow night. And if you think I’m telling him about the handheld wind meter that I saw the other day in the hardware store, you’re even crazier than I am.



About Vicky DeCoster

Award-winning humor writer Vicky DeCoster is the author of "From Diapers to Dorkville," "Husbands, Hot Flashes, and All That Hullabaloo!" and "The Wacky World of Womanhood." She has been published in over 60 magazines, books, and on several web sites. Vicky lives in Nebraska with her husband and two children where she loves to laugh every day. Visit her at www.wackywomanhood.com.
This entry was posted in Humor. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s