The Fly On the Wall Stopped Rubbing His Face and Threw Up His Hands in Despair

It does not pay to be an eavesdropper in the lives of Thevictorian family. It does not pay. But it IS pretty cheap entertainment.

When The Pony and I came home Monday night, darkness had fallen. As I cross the big bridge on our lettered highway, right before our left turn onto the county road, I like to turn my lights on bright. The reflectors along the bridge railing jump to life.

“Look, Pony. It’s like I’m a pilot, coming in for my final approach.”

“Uh huh. A landing strip.”

“Um. Let’s never let me hear you utter that phrase again.”

“Why not?”

“Do you even know what else that means?”

“Oh, come on. It’s not like I said I was trimming the bush.”

“EEEEEE! I don’t want to hear that, either!”

“It’s like that commercial for the shavers. With the ladies standing behind those trees.”

“I KNOW! I’m the one who told you that was disturbing!”

So…flash forward a day to the steak celebration of The Pony’s latest ACT score. Hick sat at the table, fiddling with his phone after he was done eating his steak and my terrible catfish.

“You always used to yell at The Pony for having his phone out at the table.”

“I’m just checking Facebook. Here’s the problem with having two Genius Thevictorians. (Let the record show that Hick’s brother, who lives across the county, has a boy with the same first and last name. Which Hick did not bother to tell me when we named our boy, after my grandpa. Maybe Hick didn’t know. He and his brother rarely see each other. It didn’t dawn on him until Brother and family came for a visit.) Look at his Facebook: ‘In honor of Veteran’s Day, all you girls show us your boobies!’ Heh, heh.”

“That’s not exactly the style of our Genius.”

The Pony chuckled. “No. No it isn’t.”

“It’s not your style either, Pony. You’d say something like ‘…show us your landing strip.’”

“Heh, heh. No I wouldn’t.”

“Hey! We should have had Dad take your picture, eating your victory steak!”

“Feasting on the flesh of mein enemies.”

“Stop that! You’re too macabre for me.”

So, on the way home, after walking seven car lengths to T-Hoe because Hick couldn’t park in the space directly in front of the restaurant door, we had to endure Hick leaning over to fart. More than once. Then sighing with pleasure.

“That’s gross. I am not going anywhere else with you! Why do you always have to do that? Pony? Don’t you get tired of this?”

“Actually, I was going to do the same thing. But I thought I better not. Just in case, you know, something else might come out.”

“Great. Even you don’t back me up. Oh, look! We’re crossing the bridge in the dark. Which doesn’t mean we’re going to trim the bush.”

“Ay yi yi. I can’t go ANYWHERE with you two!”

I turned to look at him, riding in his usual spot behind the driver. “Actually…you can’t go anywhere WITHOUT us.”

The Pony held up his hand, palm toward my face.

“Don’t you go giving me the hand. You better listen to me.”

“That’s the YES hand.”

Another awkward ending to another awkward day with Thevictorians.