You Can't Send a Hick to do a Val's Job

I appreciate my Sweet Baboo. Really. It's just that he can't seem to do anything right. Even if he's really trying, and not doing it wrong so I won't ask him again.

Every time I go to town, I ask Hick if there's anything he wants. Notice that 1) I'm letting him know where I'm going, and 2) offering to bring him a treat, even though I'm pretty sure he goes to town several times a day himself. I say pretty sure, because Hick never tells me where he is. Not that it's much of a problem. It's more of a bargaining point for me to use in arguments.

Yesterday, Hick was missing from whenever he creaked out of bed until noon:twenty. When interrogated, he replied that he had told me last week that he would be working at back-creek neighbor (and conspiracy theory enthusiast) Bev's house on Monday. Never mind modern technology that could make a simple text of his whereabouts a reminder for Val. It's not like he had to paint a message on a cave wall, or chisel one in granite with newly-discovered metal and a rock.

Because Hick realized his transgression didn't want a repeat interrogation today, he left a message on a paper plate, telling me that the roads were clear, and that he'd be working in the BARn.

Hick also sent a text around 10:30, asking if I wanted to eat at the FelineFish Skillet. No. It's 4 degrees, with 15 mph winds. I don't want to get out. So I told him, and he agreed, and offered to get me a 44 oz Diet Coke from town. I didn't have one yesterday. The roads were too slick from ice and snow. This note could stem from the fact that yesterday, I berated him expounded on the deep sorrow in my heart that he had not thought to bring me a soda back from town, after he'd gone out just to see how slick the roads were.

Anyhoo, I texted back that yes, I would like a soda, and when would he be getting it. I have to plan my day, you know. It's not like I have nothing else to do. Okay. I don't, really. Now that I'm RETIRED. Nothing but write long-winded blog posts that take about a day and a half to get to the point. Hick texted that he would get my soda at 12:00 or 12:30.

Silly me. I thought that's when he would be arriving with it. I planned on how much more UFO Files show I could watch before starting the re-coloring of my lovely lady mullet. I timed my activities so that I would be ready to make lunch at 12:30, with my magical elixir on hand.

At 12:15, right before getting in the shower to finish the rinsing out of the L'Oreal, I heard stomping and a door slam. I opened up the bathroom door just a crack, and inquired, "Are you out there?"

"Yeah."

"I'm coloring my hair."

I waited a minute for Hick to reply. Or come stand outside the door because he says he can't hear me. Nope. Nothing. Silly me. I assumed Hick must have already brought my soda, and was having his lunch. Hahahahaha! You know what happens when we assume.

When I was combing out my stunning not-gray hair, Hick came to the bathroom door and asked if all I wanted was a Diet Coke. He hadn't even left yet, and it was now 12:30. So much for Val's best-laid plans. I got assurance that he was getting it at the gas station chicken store. I started to tell him to take the scratcher out of my purse and trade it for another one, but he was GONE! Took off mid-sentence. Because he could sit for 15 minutes doing nothing, but couldn't wait 15 seconds for my reply.

I called him five minutes later, when I made my exit from the bathroom, and he was at the turn where the sheep are herded and the parachute guy flies over. I mentioned that I'd wanted him to trade that ticket, and he said he hadn't heard me talking. But he DID NOT offer to buy me a ticket! I KNOW he had the money. I'd laid out his weekly allowance, and it was gone. He knows I would have paid him pack. He's just being contrary. So I'm not paying him for the 44 oz Diet Coke! That'll learn 'im!

Sooo...he got back with my magical elixir around 1:15. I was carrying a six-pack of bottled Diet Coke downstairs. Gotta survive if I can't make it to town again! Anyhoo...I heard the kitchen door slam, and Hick was gone again! To parts unknown, most likely the BARn, but I don't care enough to track him down, because now I have my 44 oz Diet Coke.

However...

It didn't taste like the Diet Coke from the gas station chicken store! Of course I sent Hick a text proclaiming that fact. I didn't want him to think he'd gotten away with pulling a fast one on me! But I didn't see how. The cup was the cup used by the gas station chicken store. Orb K has a cup with K on it. Casey's doesn't have Coke products, only Pepsi. There's a liquor store across the street that I think has a soda fountain, that might use those cups. And another convenience store up by the truss-maker, across from the concrete factory that makes big long bridge supports and stops traffic moving them. We never go to that one.

Hick responded right away to my accusatory text.

"It came from there it was a new batch it ran out as soon as I started getting it the grouchy old lady changed it"

I won't go so far as to say it's something unpredictable, that in the end was right. Because I'm not Billy Joe Armstrong of Green Day. But I WILL say I should have figured something like this would happen. I would have said, "Oh, I'll be back tomorrow," and gone to my second-choice purveyor of 44 oz Diet Coke, which is Orb K. Not made the clerk (especially that one) change it right then for me. Bad karma. No good can come of that.

Anyhoo...I have a 44 oz Diet Coke today, after going without one yesterday. I figure that with enough added Sugar Free Cherry Limeade powder, it should be okay. I'm definitely going to town tomorrow. Come snow or high winds.