You may recall that for the past several years, I've been pretty sure Hick is trying to kill me. If you don't recall, you can simply type pretty sure trying to kill me into the search bar in the upper left corner of my blog, and read more than you ever wanted about Hick's tactics.
Thursday, we had a storm come through. Rain all through Wednesday night, then dropping temperatures through the day on Thursday, with sleet and snow. Poor Pony! The snow part had barely started when he got home, and we only got about an inch, but the sleet was under it. All over our wooden porch and rails.
I was planning my very first solo trip to town on Friday, since my unfortunate HospitVALzation. Hick had relinquished T-Hoe to me. And now this weather crap.
"The Pony says it's supposed to be in the 40s tomorrow. I know the roads will be fine for T-Hoe. I'm kind of worried about falling on the sidewalks from the sleet. I guess by the time I get to town, it will be melted. Will you clean off the porch steps for me as you leave? I notice that my broom has disappeared, and my dustpan has been broken since I was in the hospital..."
"Pony broke the dustpan trying to clean off the steps to bring you home. The broom is somewhere in the garage. Besides, I got you a brand new broom and dustpan. They're in the back of your car."
"Doing me a lot of good there. Anyway, will you clean off the porch steps? They're always the last to melt."
"Yeah. The sun doesn't get to them. I'll put ice on them for you."
"WHAT? You'll put ICE on the steps for me? Now I KNOW you're trying to kill me!"
"I meant I'd put SALT on them for you."
"I am not a mind-reader. You said ICE."
"Oh, Val. You're so dramatic."
Huh. I'm not the one who told an unsteady recent hospitalite that I'd put ICE on the steps.