Let the record show that a casino trip had been planned for Monday with my favorite gambling aunt. It was her idea. When we had lunch last week, she pulled out her calendar and proclaimed Monday to be the best day. I had just informed Hick of that excursion last night when Auntie sent me a text that the trip was off. Now don't you worry about Val pining away in her dark basement lair, after getting her hopes up for four days. She's used to disappointment.
I went to the bottom of the steps and hollered up to Hick that the trip had been canceled. "I guess YOU can take me tomorrow!" That was said in
"I could haul you up there if it's going to rain."
It WAS supposed to rain in the early week forecast, but I knew that system had petered out (heh, heh, you know what I said). I DID tell Hick. But he said he'd take me. He just didn't want to stay all day. Yeah. He doesn't seem to mind when he's there, losing my hard-won scratch-off money that bankrolls him. Anyhoo...we decided that we'd leave early, around 6:30, and come back right after lunch at 11:30. The only problem is that Burger Brothers doesn't open until 11:30. I mentioned that to Hick, but he said it was okay to have lunch and start home.
You know nothing ever works out for Val as planned. This morning, about 10 miles into our trip, Hick said,
"Picker sent me a text that there's a big auction today at 1:00."
"Okay...so we need to leave by when?"
"We can still have lunch. We can eat at 11:00 and then leave."
"No. They're not open. We'll need to leave by 11:30, so you have an hour to get home, and then drive to the auction. We can't order a burger until 11:30. But that's okay. I can find something else to eat at home, or when I go to town for my soda."
"I don't have to be there right at 1:00."
"But that's when it starts."
"That's when they sell the big stuff. I won't want any of that."
See, if he'd only told me last night about the auction, I would have said we could go another time. But he didn't. AND, he lost his money before 10:30, and wandered around talking to me when I was counting in my head. He went to ask if he could order burgers at 11:15, to eat at 11:30, and he was told no. I committed a Hick trigger by turning to say, "What are you doing?" while he was standing behind me. It was an innocent question. I didn't know if he was expecting to leave right then, or what was going on. He usually sits down at the machine beside me when he's out of money. People hate that, you know.
Well! Hick threw up his arms and stomped off as he does when he has his tantrums. I didn't know where he went, but it sure was quieter. And the fact that other people were around kept him from hollering at me.
At 11:29, I went to cash in my tickets. There was a creepy weirdo man sitting on a stool, his back to the slots, facing the cash machines. He was focused on them, about six feet away. I kind of had my back up, like our cat Dusty when she sees Jack. Not because I was afraid of a surprise humping, but because I was kind of annoyed that a creepy weirdo man could just sit there and stare at the cash machine. I made sure to keep my body between him and my screen, so he couldn't see how much money that thing was pumping out. Then I quickly stuffed it in my shirt pocket and headed for the bathroom. For counting purposes, of course.
That creepy weirdo man was Hick.
Yeah. He hadn't said a word, just sat there
From the bathroom, I sent Hick a text. "Where are you?" Because for all I knew, he had started out to the car. Sometimes he brings it around front, but last time I walked out with him, and I had said I would this time, too. But knowing Hick, he would stomp on out there and leave me hanging, and then say he was just being nice to me. In a really passive-aggressive way, with an attitude like Quincy when Mattie Ross of near Dardanelle in Yell County didn't like the way he was cutting up that turkey at Lucky Ned Pepper's hideout in True Grit.
Hick sent a text back that he was sitting by the cash machine. When I went out, he had a conniption because I hadn't spoken to him when I cashed out my money. Heavens to Betsy! What if I had asked him what he was doing, sitting there weirdo-creepin' at the cash machines? He didn't see anything wrong with the fact that HE hadn't spoken to ME, either!
I swear. You try to do something nice for someone, and that's the way you get treated! I was giving up my Brothers' burger, you know! That's a part of the casino experience! All because I wanted Hick to have time to get home and go to the auction. That's pretty selfless if you ask me!
This upcoming 40% retirement of Hick is going to be a rocky road strewn with broken glass. Like that from big water jugs with pennies in the bottom (and three dead mice). You don't even want to know what plans he has then. That's a whole 'nother story.
Gee, I wonder what Hick is saying about ME over on HIS blog. Oh. That's right.
HE DOESN'T HAVE ONE!!!