by Beth Boswell Jacks
"One day my boat will come in --
but with my luck I’ll be at the airport.”
Why is it some folks have all the great ideas? You know, like hula hoops, pet rocks, bottled water – those sorts of things that cost little or nothing in the way of thought or production, but make the inventors tons of money.
I would dearly love to come up with something clever, patent it, sell the patent for boocoodles of money, and never think about folding laundry or scrubbing a toilet ever again.
But that’s a pipe dream. Won’t happen. I’m about as left-brained as they come.
Years ago during my school teaching days, I taught divergent thinking skills; however, what the kids didn’t know was that I’m really about as creative as a snap bean when it comes to inventive matters. I excel at fill-in-the-blank and true-and-false.
My brain is boxed.
And so it was with extreme envy I listened to a CNN report the other day about a fellow named Jay who is raking in the dough with his new venture called “My Pet Fat.”
Jay has a web site, mypetfat.com, where he sells pouches of “fat replica,” guaranteed to help dieters stick to their diets.
This yellow glutinous-looking stuff is packaged in flimsy plastic bags. Oily but firm, Pet Fat is a nauseating glob of fake glycerides -- and it’s selling like buttered hot-cakes.
So, assuming you don’t leave your lunch on the kitchen floor (losing weight THAT way), how does this nasty “pet” help us poor dieters?
Jay says it’s like having a string around the finger, a conscience jabber with a silent message: “You want to add me to your thighs, honey? Look at me as I wiggle wobble in your very palm. Grimace. Cast not thine eye upon the lemon icebox pie. Think about it.”
Well, as I said, Jay is counting the dollars he’s hauling in from mailing “Pet Fat” all over the world. He gets $14.95 for a one ounce bag, $29.95 for a pound, and $99.95 for five pounds.
The man is a genius, that’s what I’m saying.
Clever people fascinate me, which, I guess, is why I can’t stop ruminating about Jay and his pets.
Lost in thought, I tried to picture Jay’s Pet Fat factory. Not surprising, considering my aversion to cooking, I envisioned a setting not unlike a plain ol’ kitchen.
See? Not much overhead and a mailbox stuffed with checks, the man has.
I told hubby G-Man he needed to help me figure out something I could invent. He suggested a Ball Baiter that fishes golf balls out of lakes, but I was not inspired.
If I’m going to spend time inventing something, I want it to be a creation that enriches my own life – like an age-defying ointment.
Yellow and oily. That I could mix up in coffee cans in the kitchen and sell in Zip-loc bags. To stupes who’d pay one hundred bucks for five pounds of the stuff. With no more advertising than a web site and a fool columnist who’d alert folks to my incredible goo.
That’s what I’m talking about. I already have the kitchen and the coffee cans.
Editor of USADEEPSOUTH, Beth Boswell Jacks is the author of 3 books (Grit, Guts, and Baseball and Snippets I and II) and is also a weekly columnist for a number of Southern newspapers. Readers and editors may contact her at email@example.com.
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