Hick has taken up a new hobby. Trollin' Facebook for dead folks. He kept it a secret at first. But I'm onto him now. I should have seen it coming. At least it might cut into the construction boom over in Hick's old hobby, Shackytown.
Tuesday morning, Hick had to leave early for work. They've been putting in a new bathroom, and he had to shut off the water to work on it before 1st shift started. He did the same thing Monday. So at 5:20 a.m., Hick sat on the edge of the bed and sighed heavily. "I think I'll just retire in December." Let the record show that this has been his plan for several years now.
"Okay. I really have no desire to talk about it right now." Because, you see, having just retired, but not yet drawn my first check, I really can't be concerned with Hick's dislike of earning a living. Off he went to work. Up I got since I couldn't go back to sleep. I had an appointment anyway at 9:00 (still earlier than I've been getting up) with the optometrist.
By 7:46 a.m., I had an email from Hick.
"Val. I am going to try and come home at 11 and go to a funeral. [This Lady's] daughter was killed in a wreck. Yo probably won't be home but was just letting you know. Good luck at the eye Doctor and I did not feed Jack."
Yes. Hick has his own way of getting a message across. I had never heard of the woman he typed of. First thing I did was go to feed Puppy Jack, but he was as plump as a Butterball turkey, so obviously he had fended for himself. Then I wondered how Hick could just take off work for a funeral of somebody not a relative. Doesn't work that way at MY work. Whoopsie! I'm not working anymore! Have you heard? And why would Hick want me to get lucky at the eye doctor?
The Pony drove me to the appointment, because I was having my eyes dilated, and driving is kind of frowned upon after that, even though Iron Man Hick declares that he drives himself home EVERY TIME after he has HIS eyes dilated, and HE only has ONE EYE. Okay. He has two. But he can only see out of one. Fireworks accident, 14. On the way, I sent a text to Hick.
8:41 "Jack was fat like a snake that swallowed a turtle. I did not feed him. Don't know how you can get off for a random funeral."
9:01 "Well I see your phone works and it is not a random funeral she was killed last week and I had already told my boss that I was going if nothing was broken"
9:02 "How do you even know her?"
9:03 "I grew up with her and her mom was my Sunday school teacher"
9:03 "What do you do, comb the obituaries for a way to get off work?"
9:04 "Ya no I saw it on Facebook Friday and I have heart"
9:07 "You have a knack. A knack for getting out of work."
9:09 "Are you at the Doctor's yet"
As a matter of fact, I was, and I had been called back for preliminary testing with the eye-puffer machine. I didn't see his text until I had the exam, picked out new glasses, and got left in another exam room for the pupil dilation inquisition.
9:53 "Yes, I am getting my eyes dilated."
The Pony and I did the weekly shopping after my appointment, and arrived home at 12:30 to see that Hick's Trailblazer was parked under his precious carport, and my Acadia was missing from the garage.
12:34 "Where are you?"
1:25 "I at the funeral I drove the new car"
1:27 "I thought it was at 11:00. That's a long funeral for someone I never even heard you mention in 26 years!"
As you might imagine, there was no response from Hick. He has never mentioned going to Sunday school. Or living by this woman. He didn't get home until after 3:30, and he was wearing jeans, New Balance, and a plaid polo shirt.
"Where have you really been?"
"I told you, to the funeral."
"You wore THAT to a funeral?"
"I was one of the most dressed up people there! Some of them were in SHORTS!"
"And it took you from 11:00 until 3:30 to go to a funeral? What was this, a New Orleans style funeral parade?"
"I had to wait in line to pay my respects. It was a loooong line."
"Why haven't I ever heard you talk about these people."
"I don't know. I guess you don't listen. I lived by them when I was THIS HIGH." Let the record show that Hick held his hand off the ground at about the height of a 3-year-old's head.
"I though you lived in the town down by my grandma's house when you were that age."
"We moved next door to them when I was in 4th grade."
"And you were only THAT TALL? Fourth-graders are 9-10 years old!"
"Oh. Well. THIS HIGH."
I think Hick has been on another one of his spy missions.