Once and Future Grooviness

Being groovy in the present is a good thing. But one must consider their future grooviness. If I'm lucky enough to live to be an old woman, I need a plan. Here is some of it:

1. I will want a flower garden, but will not wish to go out and dig around on my arthritic knees, mess with insistent weeds, choose complicated and hoity specimens of flora that, when translated, usually mean things like "The Sweet Purple Knickers of the Queen" or "Glance of the Turtledove" or "You Can't Afford Me, Bitch. Go to the Garden Section at Target."

I will hoe some simple little troughs. Then I will line them with Chia pets, toe to tail. One quick watering and my garden will be finished. In a day or two, I'll be able to look out my kitchen window and see several tiny parades of wee green animals, marching for my pleasure. If the parade lines begin to bore me, I'll gather the Chia pets and put them in gaggles on the front lawn. Miniature herds to delight the mailman and the passing obnoxious children on their insidiously overpriced razor scooters with their sticky grape pop-rocks hanging from their sullen bottom lips. Perhaps those children will be tempted to vandalize Candy's Chia gathering. By knocking over the sweet dog-lets and sheepies, or by placing them in disgusting positions of contortionist Chia depravity. But because I will be old and probably not responsible for my behavior, I'll be able to mercilessly beat those neighborhood children full-on with my garden hose, thwacking out all ideas of future tomfoolery, and no one will press charges.

2. The only other part of the plan I have so far is to invent an incredibly groovy lava lamp which will radiate Ben-Gay all around my living room as it bloops and whirls oily shapes of iridescent purple and aqua blue.