The Other Secret

There's a book called The Secret.
     It takes 198 pages and $23.95 of your dollars to tell you this one thing: If you want something, you only need to say it out loud, and it will be yours. There's something about the power of words that sets the universe in motion.
     It must work, because it works for my father. He'll say, "I want a treadmill," and then my wife will say, "We need to buy your dad a treadmill," and, before you know it, he has his treadmill. That's the secret to The Secret, when you say something out loud, you need to say it in front of my wife.
     Treadmills, once you get them home, are pretty simple to set up. Basically, you just unfold them.
     "Well, would you look at that," my father said, looking at his new toy.
     "Let me show you how you use it, dad," I told him, plugging it in.
     "Be careful, son," he said, warning me.
     I didn't take offense, but, really, how hard can using a treadmill be? I used the opportunity to toot my own horn.
      "I don't want to brag, dad, but I'm pretty athletic. I played football in high school, remember? So using a treadmill is no problem. Besides, I bought you the most expensive treadmill there is. It's really top of the line. Like me."
     I turned it on, stepped onto the conveyer belt, and immediately my foot was thrown behind me, carrying the bottom portion of my body with it as well. I rotated briefly in the air, and then landed on my tush.
     Hard.
     My father walked over to survey the damage.
     "Do you know what the trouble is with patting yourself on the back?" he asked. I didn't answer because I knew he was going to tell me anyway. "Your hands aren't free to break your fall."
     Needless to say, he never used the treadmill.
 
 

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