Sunday, March 2, 2014

Will the Horrors Never Cease?

Just when I think my life is complete, when I fear life's rich tapestry has room for nary another thread in the woven wall-hanging of Val's existence...I discover THIS on my electric fireplace mantle:

Oh, yes. Lean in closer. You'll not catch fire. I carried my cranberry candle to the burgundy kitchen counter for the phone photo. Yes, by all means, stick your snoot right down in there, get a load of that sight, feast your peepers on my discovery. Uh huh. Me, too. The retching will subside once you look away. Would you like to join me in my exclamation of disgust? One...two...three...


How silly of me to think a Walmart candle was safe on an electric fireplace mantle! Safe to sit, at the ready, in case of a power outage. Ready to bring light. Perhaps a bit of warmth. Pardon the appearance of the candle proper. I am not in the habit of dusting wax. Okay. I am not in the habit of dusting. So sue me. Maybe I would have made this discovery sooner if I was a more fastidious housewife. Good thing we did not lose our power last night, signaling me to rush to that cranberry candle with a long wooden match. "Yuck! I'll never buy another Walmart cranberry candle! Those things smell like FEET!"

There are three residents of this Backroads mansion. Me. The Pony. Hick. I am not in a habit of clipping my toenails in the living room. Not that I'm putting on airs about my grooming etiquette. Truth be told, ol' Val cannot comfortably bend over and trim her hooves while sitting in the La-Z-Boy. She prefers to prop them on the side of the triangle tub in the master bathroom for pruning. The Pony sits on the long couch and hikes his Clydesdale-size clompers on the coffee table. That leaves one suspect.

Upon interrogation, Mr. Hick Thevictorian stated unequivocally that he did not know where Exhibit A originated. Furthermore, Mr. H. Thevictorian inquired, "What IS that? Let me have it. Let me look. Give it to me. Just tip it over so I can see better. Huh. That looks like fingernails. I have no idea where they came from."

No. Not fingernails. Tiny toenails from misshapen feet with itty bitty toes, stub toes, toes that somehow sprout great talons overnight undercover of a Grandma quilt, to jab one's loving life partner until blood flows as from an open-throttle faucet.

When given one last chance to un-perjure himself, Mr. H. Thevictorian stated, "Wait. I remember now. I picked them up off the carpet the other night. I don't know where they came from."

Yeah. Because everybody who discovers toenails on the carpet deposits them in a cranberry Walmart candle on the mantle of their electric fireplace, no questions asked.

I rest my case, and await the book-throwing at this scofflaw.

A cranberry candle ain't safe in a house full of Hick.


  1. I want to come to your house. There is never a dull moment!

  2. Sometimes those rogue clippings just fly off never to be found. Obviously that is what happened, and they flew into the candle.

    Dudes have to stick up for each other ya know.

  3. He Who clips his nails leaves them on his bedside table, or on the table next to his recliner. They sit there next to his loose change and pocket lint he so graciously leaves there for the maid we don't have. I will be buying a cranberry candle for him to use.

  4. Whoa! You assumed that Hick would be attentive to housecleaning chores. You were surprised with where he would put the "found" clippings.

    I am surprised that anyone would believe that a husband would be looking at the floor, notice that some tiny things needed to be vacuumed/picked up, and would then pick them up.

    THAT is the preposterous part of this tale...

    (And who knows? Perhaps Hick is working on a new aroma for candles. Feet. The only candle aroma that can cover up the smell of farts.)

  5. Watch your Chex Mix, don't leave it within his reach if you know what I mean.

  6. I find it amazing how you can pull off an interesting post from the most unlikely material. I've never read a post about toenails before.

  7. The amazing thing is that one of your guys even thought to collect the clippings and deposit them in a container. Perhaps you should put cranberry candle nail clipping containers in your Handbasket Factory inventory.

  8. OMG! Linda has hit the jackpot.

    CCM--a new taste-sensation. Clippings and Chex Mix. The clippings will add lots of extra roughage.

    1. Sioux,
      Surely you jest! CCM indeed!. That would be a bastardization of my crunchy ambrosia, as inappropriate as the addition of the Bugles that my mom uses to befoul her "Check Mix" concoction. I might as well scatter those crisp squares over the braided rug given me by my grandma, if I want toenails added.

      Linda will have to branch off and start her own snack company. I AM willing, however, to become her supplier of raw materials. Chex Mix, toenails, either or both, if the price is right.

  9. Birdie,
    Be careful what you want for! My house might be suitable for a weekend retreat, but not for a summer sublet. It's not all cranberry candle toenails and towers of vegetable beef soup, you know. There's also Hick in dripping wet tighty-whiteys, traipsing through the house from Poolio in the summer months.

    Such a contrived denial of responsibility I have not heard in quite a while. Hick needs a refresher course. I might send him off to visit you. Prepare a dirty-water cocktail forthwith!

    Look for those cranberry candle toenail catchers, coming soon to my proposed handbasket factory.

    THANK YOU! I knew there was something preposterous about Hick's claim, but I just couldn't put my finger on it. Indeed, he has never noticed any bits and pieces on the floor before. BUSTED!

    A man candle? Yes. I can see it selling at Bass Pro Shop, promoted as a must-have for deer camp. Unfortunately, it is too similar to my new Cranberry Candle Toenail Catcher to justify room on the counter of my proposed handbasket factory.

    Hick has limited access to the Chex Mix. He is not allowed to open it or dip into my vast reserves as they await packaging for gifting. He is provided with a small bowl every now and then, to keep him in line, much like a ring through a bull's nose.

    Well, sir. If your life had a taken a slightly different turn, and you were married to Hick for nigh on 25 years, I daresay you might be painting images of opaque toenails in cranberry candles. Or browning banana peels in dark-blue La-Z-Boys. Like this, only with toenails:

    Yes, I had to consult my BFF Google for some still life action. I am ignorant in the ways of art and artists and still life masters. I also found THIS guy while fiddling around:

    I suppose, as paintings go, I have a type, and that type is realism, and a certain way with light.

    Hey! I saw your scathingly brilliant idea, and if you noticed, I think I already have a customer lined up. Don't expect a cut of the action. 44 oz. Diet Cokes ain't gettin' any cheaper.