Wow! Thank You. What is it?…
My husband bought me a bracelet for our anniversary. More specific, the bracelet was parachute cord in the form of a camouflage survival bracelet. The love of my life bought me a chunk of rope.
Thinking I missed something, I consulted an anniversary gift chart. Paper, fruit, flowers, these suggested gifts are traditional. Sugar, wool, and willow are odd, but when translated to candy, clothes, and furniture, become acceptable gifts.
This year’s anniversary fell between silver and pearls. Nowhere did I see rope on the chart, outright or implied, not one reference to hemp, nylon, or noose. I’m guessing this is for good reason.
“A survival bracelet will say ‘I love you’ better than gem stones when the world goes to hell.” He said. Sometimes my husband holds a depressing outlook of life from watching too many war and zombie movies.
“What are we surviving; nuclear holocaust, plague, or the 1% who rule the world? Say we survive any of these scenarios, how will a paracord bracelet keep me from inevitable extinction?” I asked.
“The bracelet unravels to give you eight feet of rope. You can use it to tie a tarp to a tree or use the cord as a tourniquet. Underneath the outer sheath, there are seven smaller strands of cord you can use as thread, fishing line, or tripwire.”
Oh goody. I’d be able to sew my arms back on if plague, nuclear blast, or the trip wire went bad and detached them from my trunk. Then if I had leftover rope, I could catch radioactive fish to eat. For my birthday, I’ll look forward to that tarp.
Imagine a world without toilet paper, chocolate, or coffee.
If the country wasn’t importing cacao or coffee beans from South America and Africa to produce chocolate and the elixir which brought me to life every morning, we wouldn’t import clothing from Cambodia and Indonesia either. The apocalyptic world would be ugly. Think caffeine-deprived, hairy-legged women who didn’t care if they had arm pits like men. Think grannies going commando. Think an uncle named Keg in a thong made of paracord.
No toilet paper, no coffee, naked without chocolate, living under a tarp, and setting tripwire so no one stole my Irish beer. No Irish beer! Life would suck. There’s a big difference between surviving and living. This thought makes me want to really love my neighbors.
Recently, my favorite Irish brewery sent yeast across the Atlantic to become the key ingredient in a blonde American lager. The American brewery is located thirty-two driving miles from my town. If the world goes to hell, I’m guessing GPS may not work nor the compass app on my phone nor my phone, period. I’m betting no cars either. I had no idea how eight feet of outer cord and seven inner strands or a total of sixty-four feet of rope was to assist me in a quest for beer. If I did make it to the American brewery with the Irish yeast and acquired blonde American lager, paracord couldn’t make me like it.
If the world went to hell, did the gift of a paracord bracelet mean, ‘if I’m living in Hell, I’d want you with me?’ or ‘Hell wouldn’t be the same without you by my side?’ In an effort to keep an open mind, a happy marriage, and to love my way to a better world, I believe my hubby has the best intentions with his gift.
I can’t say I was thinking diamond or pearls, but definitely not paracord, unless, the rope tied my luggage shut on a trip to New Zealand, Scotland, or Ireland.
It wouldn’t hurt to try the blonde American lager to have as a back up, a lot of it. I need to get the hellish world out of my head. The next several gift giving occasions would be easy. I already had my apocalyptic attire. “Gee honey, beer, chocolate, coffee, and toilet paper, how thoughtful.”
And I’d mean it. It couldn’t hurt to stock up on necessities in case the “love thy neighbor” thing didn’t work.
Published in Funny Times-October 2015