Often, following a paddling trip, my dry suit wants hanging on our shower rod, and it is, for a while, a substantial presence in our tiny apartment, sometimes startling those who enter the bathroom. We have taken to referring to this colorful visitor as “Mister Drippy;” and so naturally I wrote this song.
Old-timers will want to sing it to the melody of “Mister Sandman,” sounding as much like the Chordettes as possible, and remitting a licensing fee to ASCAP, with apologies to Pat Ballard.
Ahem!
I.
Mister Drippy, mango in hue,
We’d be all wet, if it weren’t for you!
Your sturdy booties and cute bungee drawstring
Put us in the mood for Nigel Foster-ing!
Mister Drippy, keep us intact,
Give us the closure that wet suits have lacked.
Keep the deep from seeping through!
Mister Drippy, that’s what you do.
II.
Mister Drippy, trusty and true,
Made in Arcata, of Gore-Tex and glue;
Neoprene, latex, Cordura and Velcro,
In the shower, a florescent scarecrow!
Mister Drippy, keep us from grief:
One zip for closure, and one for relief.
Keep the deep from seeping through!
Mister Drippy, that’s what you do.
III.
Mister Drippy, tender but tough,
A little bit cozy, at collar and cuff.
Cleaned in warm water, with liquid detergent,
Seals to be replaced, before it’s urgent!
Mister Drippy, just common sense,
One sort for ladies, another for gents.
Keep the deep from seeping through!
Mister Drippy, that’s what you do.