One of my favorite historical figures is Benjamin Franklin. Who needs superheroes when men like this were FOR REAL! For me, Robert Downey, Jr. is way hotter as Holmes than he is as Ironman, but I will have to admit that Ironman’s cocky intelligence is appealing. Ben, though…he had the whole package! Intelligence, ingenuity, diplomacy, power, and a smoking-hot pair of glasses. Franklin was what I call a kingmaker. Tom Clancy would say he “carried the football.” Metallica would call him a master of puppets. He’d be the wind beneath Bette Midler’s wings.
I don’t even hold Daylight Savings Time against the man. It was a practical solution to increase productivity in his age. Practicality is sexy! While it’s difficult now to envision Benjamin Franklin as the smoldering 18th century Iron Man, many historians quip about him taking the role of founding father quite literally (and internationally, for that matter).
Ben getting jiggy with it brings us to World Naked Gardening Day, which is apparently one of those made-up holidays perpetuated by Mark Zuckerburg in an attempt to shut down Youtube once and for all. This is where my story takes a turn from history and hopefully NOT into the video footage files of the worldwide web.
I was all set to water my tomatoes in nothing but a pair of flip-flops. I do live in the land of sandspurs and cow patties. I sprayed my tender haunches with OFF since the skeeters jumped ahead of banana spider season. I thought of Ben Franklin and his famous air baths, standing au naturale on a London balcony and took courage. If he could let it all hang out in Picadilly Circus, a naked stroll out to the garden on a secluded farm would be a cakewalk. How could I turn my backside on World Naked Gardening Day? How could I reveal myself as part of the global community without taking a watering can in my naked hand? How could I disappoint Benjamin Franklin?
Well, wouldn’t you know it. There I was in the buff watering my tomatoes and peppers when I heard a distinctive sound that stopped me in my tracks…the whoosh of a hot air balloon. I kid you not! I thought about running for cover, but sudden movement would just attract attention. The fig bush was about fifty feet away and I laughed out loud at that particular irony. Another whoosh and I realized it wasn’t just a single balloon. I was under a full scale dirigible attack! A battalion of balloons was flying directly over the farm!
Yes, the Alabama Gulf Coast Hot Air Balloon Festival pilots got a show if they were unlucky enough to look down upon my little tomato plot. I figured they’d already gotten their eyeful, so I just finished up with my watering can and walked on back to the house with whatever dignity a farming Godiva could muster.
Looks like I got my Picadilly experience after all. Thanks, Ben.