The very day after my big jackpot, Even Steven set about balancing my life. It was Thursday, my errand day. What could possibly go wrong?
Val plans, Even Steven laughs. Laughs, after throwing a monkey wrench into those plans. Monkey wrenches. Monkey wrenches that he first juggles like a medieval court jester, then spins atop each other like plates on poles in a circus act, then flingss at Val like Chinese throwing stars.
On the way to the post office to get a box for mailing Genius his requested old Gameboy and games, I heard something rolling around in the back of T-Hoe. What in the Not-Heaven? A quick inspection outside the post office revealed two jugs of vinegar, four of which we'd purchased on Tuesday, to clean hard water scale off the inside of the big triangle bathtub. The other two of which The Pony had carried inside that day. One of them had leaked on T-Hoe's carpet. So I stood them up in my soft-sided insulated cooler, zipped the lid, and stuffed my winter coat around it to keep them from tipping over.
Of course the Backroads post office didn't have any Flat Rate boxes. Only Priority Mail. Which costs by weight, not a flat rate. Gameboys and games and a case are surprisingly heavy. So that stop was wasted. I'd have to go inside the main post office in Sis-Town, get a Flat Rate box, bring it out to T-Hoe, and pack the games in it there.
On the way to the main post office, I stopped for scratchers at the School-Turn Casey's. I took in my winners for cashing in. But the clerk said, "I can't scan them. Our system is down. I think Corporate is messing with it." So I had to spend cash that I'd earmarked for something else.
At the main post office, I brought out the Flat Rate box, packed it, affixed my already-addressed label, and took it in for mailing. I was a nickel short. So I had to go back out to T-Hoe to my change cup.
At my next stop, for gas at the Sis-Town Casey's, I was able to cash in those scratchers. But when I got back in T-Hoe, my keys fell down between the seat and the console. It was difficult to retrieve them with my own ample forearm, rather than The Pony's dainty appendage.
The very worst atrocity occurred at Dairy Queen, when I was picking up lunch for myself and The Pony. Let's just say another vehicle was involved.
Oh, and the Dairy Queen girl at the drive-thru window DROPPED A PENNY OF MY CHANGE, which slid into the slot they use for donations to some charity. So I was an accidental donator.
The second-worst unfortunate event was at home, involving an eight-legged intruder as I carried my lunch down to my lair.
Those two most unfortunate events will have their own individual posts.