Perhaps I Can Give Her a Shorter Name Now

You know how I always have a tale to tell after talking to my sister the ex-mayor's wife? Guess who I stopped by to see after school today. That's right! My sister the ex-mayor's wife! You folks are great at picking up what I'm laying down. No grass grows under your feet. Maybe that because you fear that Hick will zoom over your feet on his riding mower. Be very afraid. Hick wants a $13,000 lawnmower now. And to think I had the audacity to complain when he announced that he had promised my grandma $800 (the exact same amount I had saved for a new laptop) for her old riding mower. But that's another story.

However, I WAS going by my sister the ex-mayor's wife's house to pick up a check that she wrote on Mom's account to pay Hick for mowing the yard Wednesday evening. I also had to return a big plastic canister that she had loaned me to carry home about 36 rolls of pennies and assorted coins that Mom had kept in her safe. Not that they were valuable. She just saved a hefty load of coins, because my dad used to.

So...I sent my minion The Pony in to make the exchange. Babe's daddy was there, picking her up after his work day. I didn't ask if the toy room still smells like his grandpa's BO. And I did not get out and offer Babe my key ring to play with, perchance to open the back hatch again. Babe's daddy backed out of the garage in his truck. We exchanged pleasantries through our vehicle windows. Then he left. I was wondering why my sister the ex-mayor's wife had the right-hand garage door open. That's where she parks her giant white SUV, so sparkling clean that it could blind Helen Keller. But now that bay was empty, after Babe's daddy had backed out of it.

Sis came out the garage door behind The Pony. "Can you look at this bill from Mom's dentist? I don't know if I'm supposed to keep part of it, or send it back with the check."

"There's always a white copy on top of the yellow and pink copies. Our discipline reports are in triplicate like that. So they obviously kept the white. So you can have both of these."

"But how will they know what the check is for?"

"Account number in the memo spot."

"What about this white sheet they wrote on and stapled to the front? Maybe I should sent that back?"

"Here's what you do. Go run a copy of that white sheet on your copier, and send it back with the check. Voila! You both have a copy."

"Oh. I can do that. Um. Do you have about ten minutes?"

"Sure. What do you need? Will I have to get out of the car?"

"No. I was wondering if maybe you could take me to pick up my car. I had it worked on today."

"Sure. Get in. I'll even let you ride up front with me. Unlike The Pony." Let the record show that Sis was not at all concerned with the filthiness of my chariot today, when she needed it to haul her to get her car out of the shop. Off we went. I did, however, force Sis to ride to the bank with me to put in Hick's lawnmowing check. That's because I was dying to hear the story of why her pristine automobile was in the shop, and since Sis talks kind of like I write, I knew ten minutes would not be enough time to get to the bottom of that mystery.

"Yesterday, Babe and I took my car to Walmart to pick up a few things. Then we drove through McDonald's for a soda. We came home, and Babe took her nap. Her mom picked her up around 4:00. I had a haircut appointment at 5:00. (Let the record further show that Val did not butt in and say, 'Oh, to get your hair colored so people don't assume I'm the younger sister?') I got in my car to back it out of the garage for the haircut, and it went, blubpf-blubpf-blubpf-blubpf. Like it was choking! So I pulled back in the garage, and canceled my appointment. When the ex-mayor got home, I told him something was wrong with my car. He got in it and drove it. And do you know what it was? That blubpf-blubpf-blubpf-blubpf noise? I HAD A FLAT TIRE ON THE RIGHT REAR SIDE!"

"Heh, heh! Did you run over a giant bolt in your driveway?"

"No! The ex-mayor couldn't see anything wrong with it, besides it being flat. He pumped up that tire, but all the air was gone out of it in an hour. So this morning he called that guy Mom always took her car to. He had a guy drive him out here, and they pumped up the tire, and he drove it to his shop, hopefully before all the air went out of it again."

"Well. Even my giant bolt let my tire hold air for a week or so. It only lost a couple of pounds a day."

"That's the thing. I didn't have a bolt in my tire. The ex-mayor thought it was probably a nail. He said, 'You know how you see all these guys putting on roofs now that the weather is warm. It's probably a nail that you drove over.' So when he called to tell me what the car guy said about my tire, I was shocked."

"What was it?"

"He said I had a BONE in my tire!"

"Bone? What kind of bone?"

"I don't know! I said, 'I don't remember running over a human. And I know I didn't hit an animal. The only possible thing might have been a turtle shell. I've been seeing them all over the road.' But all he would say is, 'You had a bone in your tire.'"

"A bolt wasn't good enough for you."

"Anyway...my car is ready now. I didn't get my tire plugged. I got a patch. That's better than a plug, you know. A patch is when they fix the tire on the inside."

By now we were done at the bank. I was heading toward her repair shop. "Do I turn just behind Save A Lot?" It's the one where Mom insisted that the employees gypped her on the sale price of slaw.

"No. That's a really rough road."

"Well, we wouldn't want me to get a flat tire driving down it."

"I'm not even sure it's a road. Maybe an alley. Take the road after it. Yes. Here it is. Turn here."

"Do you want me to wait while you go in, to make sure it's ready."

"No. There it is. I have my key. I only need to go in and pay."

"Hey! Ask for the bone! I want to see what kind!"

"I'm not asking for the bone!"

"Come on. You give me this great story, and you deny me a picture of the bone? Ask them, and send me a picture of it."

"I'm not asking for the bone!"

So there you have it. I left my sister the ex-mayor's wife at the repair shop, refusing to throw me a bone. I guess she's too good for that. She probably wouldn't even ask for her appendix in a jar if she had surgery.

I might start calling her The Bone Collector.