Oh, dear. Our beloved Hick has committed yet another Thanksgiving faux pas. I know! Who ever would have suspected that might happen?
after dinner, we were all hanging out in my mom's family room. Mom had
magnanimously cranked her thermostat to a sweltering 73 degrees for this
grand occasion. Hick flopped down in Mom's recliner and, when she
inquired as to whether he was comfortable (!), stated, "Well, it's a
little cool in here." Let the record show that the rotating vertical
space heater cylindrical gadget was already pointed at Hick, courtesy of
the Genius. Mom gave him her blue plaid fleece throw so the delicate
hothouse flower would not perish on her watch.
There we were, sprawled about, watching a marathon of Alaska: The Last Frontier
on The Discovery Channel, when Hick started the pre-sneeze, "Ahh...ahh...ahh...CHOO!" At
the final CHOO part, he ducked his nose and mouth into Mom's blue plaid
fleece throw. Your horror cannot surpass my own.
"What are you doing? That's Mom's blanket! She covers up with that every night while she watches TV!"
didn't hurt it. I was trying to get my mouth down in my shirt collar.
But my hands were all tied up here by this blanket. I didn't hurt
"Now Mom can't sleep until she washes her blanket! Hasn't she done enough for us today?"
"Oh, you're making a big deal. It's fine."
Really? The rest of us shot our eyes, with Uncle-Leo-Magic-Marker-worthy eyebrows arched. Really?
Nobody wants to cover up with Hick's used snot. To add insult to the
inflicted injury, Hick folded up that blue plaid fleece throw and laid
it on the back of the couch. So Mom couldn't even tell which end was
infested with Hick's nose cooties.
She later reported
that as soon as we left, she picked it up with thumb and forefinger, and
dropped it by her basement door, so she would remember to take it down
and wash it before wrapping up in it again. My sister the ex-mayor's
wife saw her grab it, and shouted, "You're not going to use that without
washing it, are you?"
No. Thank goodness, Mom knows proper Hick Cootie Disinfecting Protocol.
we won't end it there. On the way home, I sensed a noxious odor
spreading throughout T-Hoe's interior. Hick looked in the rearview
The Pony looked up from his laptop. Sighed. "Seriously?"
it. I drive numerous hours with The Pony, and I can report that only
about once per month does he have a little gaseous release issue.
Whereas you, on the other hand, have one at least every other time I
ride with you. That's 50% of the time! Compared to 3% of the time. You
know you did it. Stop leaning over. You'd better not do that again. Stop
Today I picked up Mom to go for a ride with
me on my bill-paying run. The Pony opted to stay at her house and soak
up high-speed internet. I filled her in on Hick's on-the-way-home antics. She acknowledged that she used to think I exaggerated a bit about Hick. And even though she got a laugh out of the Horse-Donkey Incident, she was starting to see that maybe my tales were more fact than fiction. As we started down her hill, Mom sneezed.
Now I'm going to have to wash my car before I can drive it again. Don't
try to tell me it's nothing." That set Mom to laughing. A lot. So much that I felt the need to add a warning: "And furthermore, I'll have you know that
The Pony is not with us. So if I smell anything, you don't have a
I can't believe Mom didn't offer me any
money this trip. Oh, she reached for her purse when I went to a
drive-thru for a Pony lunch treat. And she DID fork over a Christmas
Club check. So I guess I didn't lose my status as the Five-Dollar Daughter.
Somehow, I feel much richer.