Progress Inside the Double Hovel Beauty Shop

You may recall that Hick was going to leave the Beauty Shop as a garage. The Pony and I, 33 percent of the investment group, did not agree! We had bought the Double Hovel with the intention of having TWO homes to sell after renovations. Otherwise, the price we paid was not a bargain.

Hick finally came to his senses, and once the main house was done, started on the Beauty Shop. The first thing he did was tear out the floor, essentially gutting that structure.

That's the back half of the Beauty Shop, destined to become a bedroom/bathroom. Hick had to make the floor level. Then frame out the bathroom and put in the fixtures. Which required plumbing, and electricity. The bedroom would be L-shaped, with laundry facilities in the back part of the L. It's not the Taj Mahal. Just an efficiency cottage.

Here's the latest picture. The bedroom/bathroom was framed out. Drywall and paint applied. Hookups for washer and dryer. And this week, Farmer H and Old Buddy put down the bedroom flooring.

That's Old Buddy, putting down the flooring in the front part of the bedroom. The bathroom is behind him. You can see the front living room/kitchen area filled with Hick's tools.

There's the back part of the L-shaped bedroom. The door is for the laundry area. Hick had one set of the folding doors that had a mirror. He was going to take it back, to get matching doors, but I thought maybe a mirror might be useful for the future residents. More useful than matching laundry doors in this efficiency cottage. Not sure what Hick is going to do.

Anyhoo... I think that's a great renovation, considering how Hick started from NOTHING.

A Sneak Peek at the Double Hovel Beauty Shop

It's taken a while for Hick to renovate the Double Hovel flip house. He's had several irons in the fire, like the QuickFlip, and before that, his back surgery. He had decided that once the main house was updated, he would just make the Beauty Shop building into a garage. The Pony and I were not on board with that decision, seeing as how we invested in the Double Hovel with the intent of having TWO houses to offer upon resale.

Hick acquiesced with the efficiency apartment plan for the Beauty Shop. He and Old Buddy have been working on it between efforts for getting the QuickFlip ready for closing.

Here's what the Beauty Shop looked like when we bought the property:

It was actually the beauty shop where my mom used to get her hair done! When we bought it, the business had been closed for seven or more years. 

Hick put a new roof on it:

Looks black to me, but Hick says it's dark blue.

Then Hick decided to take out the side-street window, to make the living room more friendly for furniture. He will patch the vinyl siding to match.

Hick also put new windows in the front. Don't worry, the living room will have plenty of natural light. Also, Hick has replaced the original front door with a red metal door. 

It still needs fine-tuning, like painting the trim, and making the plants and "sidewalk" more appealing. But I'd say Hick hads made some major improvements for curb appeal. He's currently working on the insides.

If It Weren't for Bad Luck, The Pony and Val Would Have No Luck at All

The Universe keeps dealing less-than-winning hands to The Pony and Val. I've had a fairly long streak of not-winning lately. I still win a little back, but no major prizes since I cashed in my two $1000 winners a few months ago. It's almost as if The Universe is holding that against me! Telling Even Steven that I need an evening period for my winnings.

Poor Pony. He volunteered to work on Memorial Day, delivering packages only. Yet when he went to work on Tuesday as scheduled, he encountered difficulties.

"Someone lost my truck's keys. So I'm in a crappy one without AC today."

Temps in the low 80s. Uncomfortable for someone walking in the sun, delivering the mail. But wait. It got worse, less than an hour later.

"Aaaand the loaned one just died."

Meanwhile, Val was experiencing her own bad luck, though in a cooler environment. My scratchers were very LOSE-y. Only 19 percent back in winnings, when the usual is 40 percent, minimum. 

But wait! To add insult to injury, Hick bought one of the new $5 scratchers that came out on Tuesday. He tossed it on the kitchen table amongst my losers, and asked me to scratch if for him. Who does that!!! The fun is in the scratching! Anyhoo... Hick figures that since I usually have better luck than him, I should do the scratching. Hick won $10 on his $5 ticket. That's 200 percent!

Eventually... the odds will even out. Right? Even Steven? Anybody?

Every Day's a Challenge for The Pony

The Pony volunteered to work on Memorial Day, opting to earn more leave rather than holiday pay. It was just delivering packages, not regular mail. Of course no good deed goes unpunished. I got a text at 12:41.

"Ugh. 3x as many loose dogs today as leashed ones. Three from one house chased the truck down half the street."

At this point, the dog doesn't look all that threatening. But considering there were three of them, and that The Pony has been bitten a bit severely twice, I can understand his angst.

"Stay safe! their people are home for the holiday, and they're being protective. Have the spray ready!"

"Protective does not mean following a mail truck three blocks."

"Is there a dogcatcher, or a number to report loose dogs?"

"Not that's working. It's someone with the city that the managers usually call. And city hall is closed."

Oops! I forgot it was a holiday.

The Hierarchy of the Handicapped

While sitting at the stoplight Sunday, waiting for my left turn to get to the parking lot of the Gas Station Chicken Store, I hung my handicap placard from T-Hoe's mirror. It proved to be a good move. There was a guy on a big motorcycle sitting in my rightful handicap space beside the store. He looked over his shoulder, saw me coming, and started up his hog and drove away. Looped up and around the diesel pumps, and then out onto the road at the stoplight.

When I left there and continued over to 10Box, a black pickup truck backed out of the closest handicap spot right in front of me. I actually had to slam on the brakes. I don't know if that guy's woman in the passenger seat gave him bad info that the coast was clear, or if neither of the bothered to look. Anyhoo... I had to back up to allow him room to steer his truck along the area in front of the store. I then pulled into the space he vacated. It's one of the two there with the sign saying VAN ACCESSIBLE. The single space at the Backroads Casey's says that as well. Makes no nevermind to me. I rarely see a van parked in them. It's not exclusive to vans.

Anyhoo... I went inside and did my shopping. When I came out, I decided to put my five bags in the passenger seat area of T-Hoe, rather than in the rear. Easier to get out once I get home. As I was stowing away the last bag, another black pickup truck stopped in the driving lane. Huh. Maybe they were waiting for me to leave. 

That's not my problem. I was there first. I am not an Olympic sprinter. I have to wheel the cart back to the front of the store, and hobble to T-Hoe's driver's door to get in. While I was doing that, the black pickup truck revved the engine a bit, then proceeded to pull into the empty handicap space on T-Hoe's left. It was perhaps six feet farther away. That being the width of the striped walkway between the two handicap parking spaces. 

Since that truck had parked, and was no longer waiting, I used my time to write down my purchase in my checkbook register. The driver of the black pickup truck got out. Came around and opened the passenger door. Then went to the back. I'm no psychic, but her movements seemed to indicate that she was perturbed. Yet I clearly had my handicap placard hanging from T-Hoe's mirror. I was as entitled as she.

THEN the driver pushed a wheelchair up to the passenger door, and a tween/young teen got into it. The driver pushed him into the store. Again, not my problem. I have my placard entitlement to a handicap space. I can't see into the future to leave a closer handicap space for someone pushing a wheelchair. It's not like the kid had to do the shopping. The kid could have stayed home, or waited in the truck playing games on his phone.

Sorry/not sorry that I didn't rush to get into T-Hoe and vacate that parking space. I might have fallen if I rushed. Besides, there was no room to back out when that driver was parked there waiting.

I refuse to be handicap-shamed for something that I was not guilty of.

The Pony Tries to Pay an Unknown Debt to The Universe

Regular readers are aware that The Pony has suffered of late. From being force-fed a poo sandwich by The Universe. The Pony did not wish to strap on such a feedbag. That poo sandwich was no small thing. More like a three-foot-long SuperBowl sub! Stuffed with canine chompings, attic-squirrel scamperings, skinned knees, and a rain of carcass maggots!

My nerves were jangled Saturday morning when a text came in from The Pony. It was around 11:00 a.m. So before the part of The Pony's route where the most vicious canines roam. 

"Good deed done for the day! A guy found one of the other carriers. They called me asking if he could come get a letter early so he could deposit the check before the bank holiday. I handed it to him just now. It was from a law firm. So hopefully a big one."

"That's a good deed indeed!"

"I kept trying to say no, but he was insistent on giving me twenty dollars! Which is also why I think it's a big check."

"Good karma!"

Let the record show that banks around here close at noon on Saturdays. And that Monday is Memorial Day, which is a bank holiday, and also a holiday for most businesses.

The Pony agreed to do the good deed without any inkling of receiving a reward. Hope it wasn't the much-denied Postal Inspector!!!

The QuickFlip House Has Sold!

Astute businessman Hick had a wild hair of an idea to buy a house that we really didn't have money budgeted for. The Pony, our silent partner in this real estate venture, had money tied up in the Double Hovel flip house(s), and could not contribute to the purchase. Even though he offered to cash out some investments to put in what he could afford, we told him that was not necessary. Still. The Pony IS our silent partner, notified of any deals, and contributes to the expenses of renovation and maintenance. So in my opinion, was entitled to half the profits. Hick and I used our investment money for the cash purchase. No skin off our joint noses. 

Anyhoo... the paperwork was completed at the abstract company on Wednesday. Everything legal and recorded, without the need of a realtor. We recouped our investment, plus a profit of 60 percent, total. The Pony received half the profit, and we got the other half. Not a bad deal for only putting in minimal work on the property. That being a door to replace the one that the naked man destroyed, and hauling off trash when cleaning out the house and mobile home out back. 

We had a tense moment on Tuesday evening, when The Buyer said she couldn't get insurance, and wanted to wait until it was procured. Seems no company wanted to insure the property with a mobile home on it. Hick told her just to insure the HOUSE. That the mobile home could used as be a utility shed. Something worked in our favor, because by Wednesday morning, The Buyer had insurance. We proceeded with the sale at 2:00 as scheduled.

We signed the paperwork. The Buyers showed up before we left. They did their part in a separate room. Then we heard the facilitator ask if The Buyers wanted to talk to us. Sure. Hick had been working with The Buyer all along. Plus, she had her mother with her, who was the person who wanted the house, and would be living in it. 

Hick had given The Buyer a key, as soon as we closed on the QuickFlip three weeks ago. So she could start working on anything she wanted. Just as the guys Hick had made a purchase agreement with had given HIM a key several months ago to start making any improvements he wanted. The whole "handshake" agreement thing had me crazy over legalities, but in this case, it worked out well for all concerned.

Anyhoo... the buyers came into our signing room, and Hick gave The Buyer the keys, and a business card with the name and number of the guy who sold us the QuickFlip, because he still wants to get his tractor out of a shed on the property. Again, all agreed-to by us and The Buyer. 

The Old Lady who will be living in the house was so nice! And excited to get the property. Hick told her she should come to the Senior Center for lunch every day. It's only a few miles from this house. She doesn't know anybody in the area, and seemed excited to have that option.

All things considered, this was a win-win deal for everybody involved. We received a nice profit, and The Buyer got a good deal, according to real estate prices in this ares. ALSO, she asked if we knew of a plumber, and I volunteered that Hick had done all the plumbing on our house, and The Pony's house, and the Double Hovel flip house. Hick asserted that he charges $40 per hour for his services, but mostly contracts by the job, so costs are known up front, and nobody can say he's taking too many breaks and running up the fee. 

Meanwhile... work on the Beauty Shop half of the Double Hovel continues, and is almost complete. We will be using a realtor on this one, to get maximum exposure, and an optimal price.

The Cheatingest Store That Ever Cheated

One of these days, Val is going to go postal. Sorry, Pony, for that reference! I don't actually intend to go HAM with a weapon. Only to hold up the line until I get the sale price that was marked in the store. I am tired of being cheated! I need to grow a backbone, and stand up for my pocketbook.

Thursday, I was over in Sis-Town for errand day, and stopped in Country Mart for bananas and anything they might have in the hot case or deli for our supper. I was lucky to find Hick's Diet Mountain Dew on sale, 3-for-$11. AND I got the last three six-packs of it!

Unfortunately, I also made an error in trusting that store to honor their sale prices. When I was in the produce section for bananas, I noticed that the giant baking potatoes were $1.19 each. That's not really a bargain, since they used to have them for 80 or 90 cents each on their special. But still, I was willing to pay $1.19 each so we could have our homemade Terrible Tater with pulled pork. 

At the only open checkout, a young guy was being trained at the register. When he got to my potatoes, he put them on the glass weighing thingy. I immediately said, "They were marked $1.19 each." Well. Far be it from ME, the customer, to suggest a solution to that guy's blank look. The gal training him picked up the cheat sheet that has pictures of all the produce items. He rang it up, but I didn't know for how much. 

There were people behind me, and I just paid and wheeled my cart out to T-Hoe. Where I discovered, in recording my purchase from the receipt, that he had charged me PER POUND on those potatoes. A price of $3.63, rather than the $2.38 they should have cost me. That's the value of another whole potato, and more!

No. I did not limp my knees back inside and demand a refund. These cheaters are on the cusp of triggering the ire of Val Thevictorian. Making her hold up a line and question their tactics, even if it means calling someone over to void the transaction and start again.

It can't be an accident that their registers are not programmed for their sale prices...

These were clearly GIANT BAKING POTATOES! You can see the size compared to a jar of dill pickle spears:

That is obviously a giant baking potato! Not in a bag, just loose. From a bin marked "$1.19 each."

I don't so much blame the young guy who was training, but the trainer herself should have known better. Know your specials for the week, even if they are not programmed properly into the register!

The Man continually finds a way to cheat Val Thevictorian.

The Pony's HORROR at 3:00 A.M. (don't read if you're squeamish)

You've been warned! Don't proceed if you can't handle the unpleasantries of life (and death). 

I got a text from The Pony on Monday at 3:40 a.m. I wasn't too concerned to hear it come in, because The Pony knows I stay up most of the night, and if he wakes up, he'll sometimes respond to an earlier message. What I read when I picked up my phone chilled me to the bone.

"Well. I'm guessing Dad still didn't listen to me about the attic. And the dead squirrel."

"I keep telling him every morning."

"Because there are maggots in my bathtub and I do not see any way that would have happened unless they fell through the fan/ceiling corner where there's suddenly a ton of dust. It's that, or they came up the drain."

"YIKES! I will let him know as soon as he gets up."

"Everything was fine the last time I ran a bath. There are some in my toilet, too. So unless it's all from the pipes, the only way I can imagine is they came from overhead."

"What about on the floor? Or in your other toilets."

"None I can see, but looking around now. Two on my towel hanging dry against the wall, but none in my sink or shower. The could have conceivably gotten in the toilet from the wall or by dropping through the ceiling vent."

"Nothing in the other rooms where it hadn't smelled like death. Or living room or kitchen. Not even around the trash. So it's either something in the tub's pipes/drain, or from the overhead squirrel corpse. Like I told him was there!"

"Is it okay if Dad comes in while you're at work?"

"I'd rather he didn't. Unless even more fall down, there won't be anything to see since I'm cleaning it and exterminating them right now."

"More might fall after you clean."

"My skin is crawling."

"Mine tooooo!"

"Every time my skinned knee itches while I'm doing this I expect to see one working toward the healing injuries!"

"Dad has been putting money ahead of family. When I ask for something I get a lecture about how he's doing EVERYTHING."

"I've literally asked him three times to bring a ladder or tell me where one tall enough is and I'd just do it."

"He'll be out here in about 90 minutes."

"Don't tell him. Just hand him the phone when you call, and I'll do it, that way he can't yell at you."

"I want to show him the pictures first. Or he'll say you must be confused because that's not possible. You know how he denies."

"Yeah. I'm standing here filling the tub to try and flush away any that went in the jets or upper drain, and catching the ones crawling in and out. Got candles burning so the rot smell is covered."

"Dang it! This could have been prevented!"

"When did I first say it smelled like rot? A week ago? Because I remember him saying he would do it Tuesday or Thursday unless it was raining. I feel them popping even through the toilet paper I'm using to pick them up as they crawl out of hiding spots."

"It was last Sunday. Because you said you hadn't heard the squirrel moving since Friday."

"So for over a week."

"Yeah."

"You can show him the pictures after. Just let me talk to him first. I'm literally twitching from this. Just threw up a little from pulling one out of the top drain of the tub and popping it."

"Ick!"

When Hick got up, I called The Pony and handed over the phone. Hick DID sound apologetic. Said he hoped the squirrel wasn't down in the wall, or he wouldn't be able to get it without tearing out the wall. He planned to take Old Buddy over there before they got to their intended project of cleaning out the mobile home on the QuickFlip property. 

The Pony was getting ready to go to work early. Said it was the one Monday he was looking forward to work, to get out of the smell and the maggot-popping. At 6:52 he sent me another text.

"They're up on the roof now."

By 7:04, there was a discovery.

"Old Buddy found it. Fun to hear Dad ask, 'What do you need?' and for Old Buddy to say, 'Pitchfork.'"

"I'm glad I reminded Dad to bring along some trash bags!"

Anyhoo... The Pony's ordeal seems to be over. When he got home Monday night, he said

"There were a few more very tiny maggots in the tub. They've been removed."

"Hopefully they will stop dropping now!"

When he left here Monday morning, Hick said he had something to spray and kill the maggots. So I'm hoping the removed squirrel was the only dead thing in The Pony's attic.

I guess that squirrel really came back to bite Hick in the rumpus. Well. Technically, Old Buddy's rumpus, since he had to do the pitchforking.

I'll Give Up a Grilled Chicken Wrap For This

Val was not totally unhappy with her Mother's Day casino trip last Wednesday. Even though her much-fantasized grilled chicken wrap did not materialize, there were other perks.

Before our my disappointing lunch, The Pony was playing a Buffalo Chief slot on a kiosk. I went over to the slot on his right, just to provide company. I have never won anything on Buffalo Chief, the slot that has white buffaloes, and a bonus that adds more of them to the screen.

The Pony was having no luck, and got up from his slot. I asked if he would get me a FREE soda while I finished playing off the $20 I had just put in. The Pony agreed. While he was away, an elderly lady sat down at the slot on my left, which The Pony had just vacated. Even though there were four others around the kiosk that were unoccupied. 

I don't begrudge the elderlies their slot play. But this Elderly Lady was drenched in perfume that smelled like old people! Some kind of floral scent. I was almost gagging while having to inhale that miasma. AND the EL lit up a cigarette! Which of course sent a trail of smoke flowing like the scent of Pepe LePew right across Val's sensitive nostrils.

The Pony returned with my FREE soda. Diet Coke mixed with lemonade. He stood at my left shoulder while I finished playing out my $20, at 80 cents per spin. Except that I had just hit a bonus before he returned!

And what a bonus it was! I ended up with 53 free spins! That's a $42.40 value! Of course those bonus spins came in spurts. The Pony cheered me on. That EL did not seem happy with my success! Anyhoo... by the time it was all over, I had accumulated a nice bonus. Here's the screen showing what the game looks like, even though I only won 5 cents on the three jacks on the last spin:

Notice the 230 in the upper left. I only needed 20 more white buffaloes to max out! That would have been a single re-trigger of the free games. I'm dying to know that happens when you get ALL the white buffaloes in your bonus. Alas, that was not to be. But don't feel sorry for Val!

I won $526.35 on my 80 cent bet. I think I had fed that machine two twenties before I hit this jackpot. It's about time! I've been giving it a twenty here and there on every visit. Maybe my luck happened because they've moved this slot across the casino to the other side. You never know what random change to timing will have on your luck!

But wait! Val was about to have another nice surprise after lunch!

Playing Buffalo Gold on my favorite slot, the Wonder 4 Tall Fortunes, I hit another jackpot. It was time to leave, so Hick had to wait while it played out. Not so impressive, since I had to bet $2.40 a spin. But affordable, playing with some of my previous win. The exciting thing about this jackpot was that I had earned 12 of the 13 Buffalo Heads. Oh, well. Last time I got all 13, I hit my $8600 jackpot on a different Buffalo slot.

It was a fun day, and I left with a healthy addition to my casino bankroll. The Pony lost a minimal amount, and Hick didn't share what he won or lost. So I'm thinking it was a small loss. Hick is vocal about his wins, and about a major loss.

How DARE The Universe Toy With Val's Appetite!

For Mother's Day, Hick and The Pony took me to the casino. It was not a hardship for Hick, since he has a lady contact in that town who runs a pawn shop, and supplies him with merchandise for his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2). We went on Wednesday, which is The Pony's day off. 

I have been cutting back when I strap on my feedbag. I checked the menu of the casino's grill where we eat when we are there gambling. They had a new item that I wanted to try. A grilled chicken wrap. Not necessarily because I thought it would be healthier than my usual pulled pork sandwich or burger, but because it was NEW, and I wanted to try it. A reward, if you will, for making those wise choices for the past few weeks.

Oh, how I obsessed over that grilled chicken wrap! Looking forward to it as much, or perhaps more, than the slot machines. I even told The Pony. Who considered it, but then chose his usual fried chicken sandwich. 

To prolong the suspense, we waited until 1:45 to have lunch. We get there at 11:00, and then play a while during Hick's off-premises visit with his pawn shop lady. Usually eating around 12:30. But this time, the grill was busy! Almost all the tables were taken up with OLD PEOPLE! Of course, it WAS the multiplier day for folks over 50. We hadn't expected a charter bus of elderlies. I think they probably blew through their money, and then sat in the grill killing time and socializing, taking up the tables. 

Anyhoo... we went to eat when some of those elderlies finally gave up their tables. It took over 20 minutes for a gal to bring our food to the table. She said, "Just tell me what everyone ordered so I can get it right."

"I had the chicken wrap."

"Oh. Uh. I'll be right back." And she was gone!

"PONY! What was on the tray?"

"I don't know! It was above my head! I couldn't see it."

The Gal returned shortly. She served The Pony a fried chicken sandwich with fries. And Hick a burger with fries. Then told me, "I'll have them make your a wrap. They made a chicken sandwich instead."

"I'll take the chicken sandwich. I'm not waiting longer for a wrap. Is the sandwich the same price?" 

"Yes. It's the same thing, only on a bun."

The chicken sandwich was okay. Tasty, actually. But NOT a wrap! Which I had been looking forward to for over a week. Hick said:

"You know, they would have just taken that back to the kitchen, and wrapped a tortilla around it."

"Maybe... but I don't like to send food back. I'm not eating any "extra" ingredients they might put in because I complained!"

Nobody can do a job right these days.

Sometimes, You Gotta Let It Go

When I stepped into the shower on Saturday afternoon, I thought I heard a motor of some kind in our front yard. I presumed it might be The Veteran, returning one of Hick's tractors after using it to prepare for the installation of his swimming pool. The dogs were barking, but they know The Veteran, and it didn't last for long. 

It was 4:15 when I left the house and started for town. Well. The dogs were not around. I had a small leaving snack for them as usual. I tossed it on the side porch. When T-Hoe and I arrived at the end of the driveway, I saw two kids on a 4-wheeler in the BARn field. They looked about 10 years old.

That's not something you want to see on your land. It's not about the disrespect of tearing up somebody's grass on private property. It's about the possible liability if they wreck and injure themselves. Why should our insurance pay for some irresponsible parents letting their spawn trespass?

Anyhoo... I stopped at the end of the driveway, because there was a black pickup truck in the middle of the gravel road. Somebody at our across-the-road neighbors' house was closing the metal gate to their driveway. It had a handwritten sign attached, but I couldn't read it. There was another woman opening the metal gate to their horse field. They haven't had horses for a couple years now. Apparently, they were parking vehicles in the horse field.

I don't know why the driver of the black pickup truck couldn't understand what to do. Obviously, the driveway gate was closed, and the field gate was open. No need to sit there blocking the gravel road. FINALLY that truck went into the horse field. Past the guy on the giant Harley motorcycle revving his loud engine.

The kids went across the gravel road as well. Good riddance to the underage trespassers! I noticed that our neighbors had a post with two red Solo cups hanging from it. Huh. They must have been marking a route to their house. Indeed, as I got to the bottom of Hick and Buddy's Badly Blacktopped Hill that had been pulverized into a pile of blacktop chunks, I saw another two red Solo cups dangling from a metal post. AND there were the red Solo cups at the end of our gravel road, by the mailboxes, and another out on the county blacktop road where it joins the county lettered highway.

When I returned home to find Hick in his recliner, I mentioned this activity.

"Do you hear that music booming?"

"Yeah. Neighbor is having a party for her 60th birthday. I don't want to go, because I don't like to be around drunks."

"If there's ever going to be ANOTHER headless body found in a septic tank, it would be the work of THIS CROWD!"

Hick agreed. We don't begrudge our neighbors this party. We get along with them, even though their dogs ate all our chickens. We don't want to start a feud. After all, they sent me FREE TACOS! Sometimes, you have to endure some unpleasantness to preserve cordial relations with the people who live nearest you.

Once Again, Hick Falls BackRumpusWard into FREE STUFF

I'm not secretly trying to kill Hick. Really! But I forgot to lay out some frozen leftovers for him to take to his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) on Saturday, so he didn't have to skip lunch. When I got home from town that evening, I asked Hick what he had for lunch.

"Some cheese chunks. The gal at Casey's gave them to me. She gave me 8 packages of grapes and cheese and sausages."

"Were they expired? Why would she do that?"

"When I went in [to get his donuts, no doubt!] she asked me if I wanted a bottle of orange juice. I said 'sure.'"

"That will kill you! It's what they give diabetics when their blood sugar is low!"

"Oh, I'll give it to Old Buddy. He'll drink it." Said the man who bought two giant jugs of orange juice at the auction a couple months ago, and drank one.

"Was it expired?"

"No. And when I took it, she asked if I wanted some other stuff. She had just put it in the wastebasket. It was packages of grapes and cheese and little sausages. The date on it was the 21st. So I took it."

"Why would she be throwing that away? It must have been left out and got hot."

"I think they were switching out stuff in their cooler that's beside the donuts."

"I have no idea what's beside the donuts. I don't look at that stuff when I go in to buy my tickets. But this seems suspicious."

"It was already in the wastebasket before I walked in. And the date was good. She knows what time I come in there every day. So she gave it to me."

"How much do you think that was worth?"

"Oh, at least $3 a package. Or maybe more."

So we are supposed to believe that the Casey's gal gave Hick $24 or more worth of unexpired food. Next she'll be offering him swampland in Florida...

After All That!

Well. So much for Val suppressing her gorge reflex to inspect Hick's TOE upon his request. After all that, Hick went and visited his pedicurist on Friday! 

"She squeezed my toe, and some stuff shot out of it!"

"How did THAT happen? I didn't see anything wrong with that toe. It was the same puffiness as all your other toes. And no redder than them. Nothing seemed different from your other toes."

"It was around the toenail. That toe never had been right, ever since I dropped a grinding wheel dresser on it at work. It weighed 72 pounds. That toenail has never fit right since then."

"I don't think you've had an infection in your toe for over six years. The toe next to it must have poked it with the toenail, and your foot bacteria got in and made an infection. But normally that would look all red and swollen, and not just start to hurt overnight."

"I don't know. But she squeezed it and stuff came out."

"OOH! Imagine having a job like that!"

"Well. She was wearing gloves."

"Still, ICK! Did she do anything to it?"

"She put some kind of medicine on it. It felt better after she squeezed the stuff out."

"Maybe you should ask your doctor--I mean nurse practitioner--about it next time you go."

"Yeah. I will."

Don't even get me started on trying to ask Hick to explain what a grinding wheel dresser is! It took 30 minutes of shouting the same thing over and over. About the grinding wheel dresser being 6 inches across, and 4 inches long. 

Apparently, Hick does not understand the concepts of DIAMETER and CIRCUMFERENCE. Which I realized when he told me a soda bottle is 2 inches around. KEPT telling me that, holding up his 20 oz bottle of Diet Mountain Dew, insisting that it was 2 inches from HERE to HERE, clearing referencing the diameter. Then telling me that I am too technical. That anybody in the world could understand what he was talking about, but not ME!

That's 30 minutes of my life that I will never get back. Not to mention the brain cells that tied a bandana to a stick, and hobo-ed it down the road.

The Sacrifices Val Makes For Hick

I'm pretty sure I've mentioned in passing that I hate FEET! I don't like to look at them. I most certainy do not like to TOUCH them!!! But on Thursday, Val was called to duty to save Hick's life. Well. In HICK'S mind, anyway...

"Something is wrong with my toe. I know you don't like to do these things, but would you come take a look at it?"

Oh my gosh! The put-upon-ness didn't just ooze out of my pores. It shot out like sparks from a 4th-of-July fireworks fountain. I hobbled into the living room to where Hick was sitting on the long couch, his right foot resting upon the marred coffee table.

"It's the toe next to my little toe. It hurts! Does it look swollen to you?"

I resisted the urge to faint. Then the secondary urge to vomit. I looked at Hick's toes. I reached out to TOUCH THEM!!!

"I can't see anything wrong. It's not redder than the other toes. It might seem swollen, but the other toes are just as bulbous, though in other directions. I don't see any sign of inflammation around the toenail. I don't see any signs that the nail on your baby toe gouged the side of this one."

"It hurts!"

"Does THIS hurt?" I squeezed the end of that toe, and Hick acted like he was dying.

"Did you stub it?"

"I don't remember stumping it, no."

"All I can think of is that when you wore your other shoes yesterday at the casino, that little toe pushed on this one and made it hurt. Or maybe you had a wrinkle in your sock that irritated it. The color looks good compared to our other toes."

"I guess I can get a pedicure tomorrow. That gal will tell me if there's something wrong with the nail."

"I can put some antibiotic ointment on it. But I don't see any sign of injury or infection."

"No. That's fine."

"Could it be gout?"

"That's not in my toes."

"Gout can be in any joint. Toes, ankle, knee, hip..."

"I take medicine to prevent gout. So I don't think it's that."

"I still think it might be from wearing those other shoes all day, when you don't like them, and you're not used to them."

Let the record show that Hick normally wears mesh running-style Skechers, and the other shoes are a white leather "cross-trainer" model. Hick's toes are so jammed up on each other, I suspect that the confines of the leather shoe made them squish against each other with every step.

I need to charge Hick minimal fee for inspecting his toes, seeing as how I abhor feet so much. If he doesn't like it, he can go to a podiatrist and pay THAT guy's fee.

Squirrel Tale

Wednesday, The Pony asked Hick if he had checked in his attic yet for the squirrel. Even though I had reminded Hick on Monday morning to go by there and take a look, he had not. THEN Hick had the audacity to say that he might not even do it on Thursday! Said because it "might" rain. And the only way to look in is to put a ladder up against the house and get on the roof. Hick further advised The Pony to put some tape over the hole the squirrel had gnawed in his closet ceiling.

"WHAT? Are you saying that a squirrel can't chew through tape?"

"Well. It will keep him from poking his head in there to look around. Or going through to see what's in there. Yes. A squirrel could chew through tape. But if he pokes his nose onto the sticky side of duct tape, he might reconsider."

"Pony? Do you even have a ladder?"

"Don't need no ladder. Just a chair to stand on."

"Yeah, Mom. If I could get into the attic through my house, from a chair, I would go up and look for that squirrel myself! But I don't have a ladder to get to the attic from outside."

The thing is, The Pony last heard that squirrel around Friday. Nothing since then. And there's been a smell in his master bathroom.

"I deep-cleaned my bathroom on Sunday. So I know the smell isn't from something in there. It has to be the squirrel in the attic. Or maybe it's even under the house. I saw a cat on my back porch when I came home Tuesday evening. I think he was just trying to stay out of the rain. But I've seen him go under my house before. So I wouldn't be surprised if he caught something and drug it under there."

Hick is ecstatic that maybe the squirrel ate the poison he (actually Old Buddy) put out. But not excited enough to check out the smell of decay. It's not like Hick would be going into the attic himself. He pays Old Buddy to do that work for him. They'll already be in town, working on the Beauty Shop half of the Double Hovel flip house(s).

Travels With My Placard: The Stinkeye LIVES

Val wishes she had a jousting stick strapped to the side of her high horse, so she could draw it at will and POKE POKE POKE those inconsiderate rumpusholes who selfishly park in her rightful handicap space. Val has an official PLACARD, you know! Designating her as special and deserving of a parking space close to the door, painted with a blue wheelchair stencil, lined in blue or yellow, marked by a blue-and-white sign on the wall or a metal post.

Indeed, Val's nostrils flare, sucking in her rarefied air atop her high horse. If she had even the slightest hint of dragon DNA, flames would shoot out upon exhale. How DARE the able-bodied peasants take up such a rectangle of blacktopped real estate that is not meant for their common squatting.

Tuesday, I was coasting T-Hoe through the parking lot of Hick's pharmacy, crossing the moat, intending to pull into my rightful handicap parking space at the Gas Station Chicken Store. But no! A silver newer-model Chevy pickup truck rolled in there just ahead of me. As I was turning in from the alley, I saw a 20-something man and a sixish-year-old boy get out and go into the store.

Well! Ain't that a rotten kettle of fish! I parked in the space by the FREE AIR hose. Putting T-Hoe nose-to-nose with that silver pickup truck. My blue-and-white handicap placard swinging from T-Hoe's mirror. In the past, I have gotten out and peg-legged it around such parking offenders, walking extra distance to get my scratchers. Not this time. I waited.

Here came the 20-something man back out, his boy close behind him. The man had a bottle of Gatorade. Nothing for the boy. Let the record show that they were both as spry as spring chickens. No handicap plate, no placard. There is no one quite so NOT disabled as a 20-something man. And a sixish-year-old boy. I can't blame the boy. He wasn't driving.

I sat in T-Hoe, my eyeballs boring into that 20-something man. I'm surprised that he did not burst into flames from my still-potent, currently underused stinkeye. I had made sure that he would have to back up to move his truck around me to leave. 

Oh, how I wished for a jousting stick to poke a couple of dents in his pickup truck as he drove past T-Hoe.

The Pony Might Be Disappearing, One Layer of Flesh at a Time

Any time I get a text from The Pony during working hours, my heart starts racing. Is The Pony okay? What might have happened??? I'm not even going to specify an incident involving a roving "best-friend" of man. Not putting that out into The Universe!

Saturday, The Pony was having a good day. Temps in low 70s, sunny weather. Until...

"You can up my workplace injury counter by one!"

"Fell on a driveway, not a bite. Guess I'll smell even tastier to dogs now! Just gotta finish the next two hours with blood in the water, so to speak. Hope it doesn't ring the dinner bell for dogs!"

I hated to see The Pony's injury, but was relieved that it was "just" a skinned knee. But then I got another alarming text from The Pony.

"Not even ten minutes after I made that joke I got charged by a dog! Not bitten but woooo this went from an okay day to a painful one fast!"

I got more details from The Pony after work:

"Curse my darned feet not keeping steady on gravel! Though better me than the older lady I was taking a package to. She said her daughter won't let her go down the stairs there alone anymore since she's fallen on it too. It's just something about the gravel not setting tightly in the dirt there or the slope of the hill I guess."

This happened on Saturday. The Pony babied that knee on his day off Sunday. Then Monday morning, the reckoning arrived.

"Not so sure I can manage work but gonna try. Ended up in tears from putting on my pants. About to drive over."

"So sorry. Do you have bandaids?"

"No. It's fine. I can do this. It's bearable as long as I keep moving for now."

Well. I was over in Sis-Town, where The Pony lives, picking up some things in Country Mart shortly after 4:00. And there was The Pony at the next check-out! Off work, buying bandaids from their pharmacy section.

We walked out to T-Hoe, and I got a gander at The Pony's knee. Seeing as how The Pony was wearing shorts, not pants. There was a groove of gloopy greenish stuff. Good thing The Pony also had antibiotic ointment. That knee needs a good scrubbing, and should probably stay covered for a couple days.

Of course I didn't use the word "scrubbing" with The Pony...

As for the dog charge, The Pony said he rounded a corner and a lady was getting out of a car. Her dog was in it with her. Jumped out the door and ran at The Pony, barking. The lady hollered at the dog, and it stopped. At least SOMEBODY in Backroads knows how to control her pet.

Hey! Universe! This is Totally Uncalled-For!

Poor Pony. He doesn't ask for much. A jetted bathtub in which to soak after a hard day delivering the mail. A day with no canine fangs breaking his flesh. A squirrel-free attic. But The Universe mocks him! 

There The Pony was, going about his business on Thursday, bringing bills, cards, and junk mail to the masses, when The Universe had to throw him a curveball.

Let the record show that there has been street resurfacing on The Pony's route. Some streets blocked from regular traffic.

Machines scrape the pavement off the streets, so the new pavement will stick better, I think. It's not like the added weight of the new pavement will cause the earth's crust to collapse. It's pretty durable, that crust.

But on Thursday, there was The Pony, hoofing along, delivering the mail to the Backroads masses, when he was subjected to THIS:

As The Pony said, "My lungsssss!"

Such an insult to a hard-working Pony!

But worse was yet to come...

I'm Pretty Sure I Don't Even Have to Try

Perhaps you recall that I am pretty sure Hick is trying to kill me. Sometimes it's multiple times a week, sometimes he goes a month or two between attempts. Well. IF Val ever had a desire to jump-start Hick's demise, she wouldn't have to lift a finger.

Last night, I warmed up Hick's supper of a frozen leftover noodle/chicken/pea/mushroom/Alfredo sauce concoction. I had thawed it in FRIG II overnight. Warmed it in a pan on the stove. It was a portion a little more than one serving, but not quite two. I had planned some tuna salad for myself. I told Hick he could eat all he wanted, and that if some was left, he might want to take it in his lunch to his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) on Sunday.

Hick ate most of it, and came in with his leftover leftovers to put them in a foil packet for the next day's lunch. He has a mini fridge there, and has said before that he warms leftovers on top of a heater. Well. The temps have been in the upper 70s, so I doubt Hick wants to turn on his heater. My curiosity was quenched when Hick said,

"I'll warm that up on the dash of my truck."

"WHAT? You'll get food poisoning! You can't do that!"

"I'll keep it in my refrigerator until I'm ready to warm it. Then I'll take it out to the truck. It will be fine."

Am I the only one who sees food poisoning in Hick's future?

Hick, the Dancing Gaslighter

The Pony is concerned because he has been hearing noises in his attic. You may recall that last year, Hick and Old Buddy got up in The Pony's attic, left a squirrel trap, scattered shavings of Irish Spring soap, and patched up openings they thought might allow a squirrel to gain access. They did indeed catch a squirrel, which was no longer making noises when they found it due to its odor.

Then came the halcyon days, when The Pony could inhabit his habitat with no unwanted visitors upstairs. Well. Those days have ended. For a couple months, The Pony has mentioned hearing a squirrel in his attic again. He tells me, only because he has already told Hick, with no action forthcoming.

"The Pony says he's got a squirrel in the attic again."

"There cain't be. Old Buddy and me closed it up."

"But Pony hears the noises when he's taking a bath. Says it's over his bathroom."

"I'm not so sure he isn't just hearing noise from the jets in the tub. That's what I told him. Since he only hears it over the bathroom."

"I'd think The Pony would be able to tell the difference. He hasn't complained of attic noises until recently. And he's been taking baths all along."

"The Pony don't pay attention."

As if The Pony hasn't had enough trials lately, he now has this squirrel issue. Which Hick pooh-poohs like a naked man on a flip house porch denying wrongdoing to the police.

Hick has spent about two months dancing around The Pony's claim that he has a squirrel in the attic. He finally went over to Pony House this week, while The Pony was at work. Because Hick is carefull about getting on ladders these days, due to his back repair and dizziness when he tilts his head back, he sent Old Buddy up the ladder to look into the attic.

"You'll never guess what Old Buddy saw when he poked his head in The Pony's attic! 

A SQUIRREL!"

"I could have guessed that."

"It was a squirrel sitting on a nest in a dark corner, looking right back at him. Old Buddy hollered at it and acted like he was throwing something, but that squirrel just sat there and stared at him. I think it was tryin' to have babies. Old Buddy got a stick and started poking at it, and it run off. We moved that strobe light thing I'd put up there, from over the main part of the house to the area over the bathroom. We cleaned out the nest. Then sealed up a little hole about the size of a quarter."

"If it can get its head in, it can get through!"

"Not now. We had to take off a section of siding to look in there and get to the nest. That's when we found the hole. Now it's all sealed up. Hopefully that squirrel ran out and can't get back in. Oh, and we found a hole in the top of The Pony's closet, in the bathroom, where a squirrel had chewed through the drywall. I'll have to patch that."

Well. The Pony said he heard noises again a day or two later. Hick said on Thursday that he'd been to Lowe's, Menards, Tractor Supply, and the Family Center. And that there's no such thing as squirrel spray. That they hate mothballs. So he's going to scatter a bunch of mothballs in The Pony's attic.

"So wait. You got this information from hourly workers at those stores? Did you ever think of maybe GETTING AN EXTERMINATOR who does that kind of work for a living? Like when I told you to do that last year?"

"Val. There's no spray for squirrels. What's an exterminator going to do?"

"Um. GET RID OF THE SQUIRRELS? Because that's what you pay them to do? And they do it for a living?"

"These mothballs oughta work."

Here we go again. The Pony might as well call an exterminator on his own. But he believes in Hick. Moderately. He hasn't been exposed to Hick's tactics as long as Val.

I Hesitate to Call Hick a Winner

Just when Hick and his cronies were contemplating changing their bar bingo night back to Wednesdays, at another location, Hick had to go and win a PRICE! It's not $9000, like Hick revealed that a lady won a week or two ago. But still, it's something tangible that Hick won at bar bingo.

Hick carried it in on Tuesday night, all proud about his victory.

"I won a Mizzou bag."

"Huh. Looks like a purse to me."

"Yeah. To me, too."

"What will you do with it?"

"Probably sell it at my store."

It's not a bad "price." It's made of sweatshirt material. With the little pouch pocket that you find on sweatshirts. But I don't know how Hick would find this useful. So he might as well sell it to a fan who will treat it right.

Let the record show that Thevictorians are not big college sports fans. We DID love watching OU play football on TV when The Pony was at college, reveling in the success of Heisman Trophy winner, and future #1 draft pick Baker Mayfield. Hick and HOS (Hick's Oldest Son) went out to watch a game when The Pony was honored pre-game for being a National Merit Scholar. My mom loved watching Mizzou basketball, and even gave Baby Genius a Mizzou onesie to wear on game days!

Better to win something you can't use, than never to win at all!

Hick's Latest Senior "Price"

Hick was back at beating the pants off the elderlies Wednesday, at Senior Center bingo. He didn't bother to send me a picture of his lunch! I always enjoy seeing what they serve. Tuesday, he said they had some salad and some chicken pieces and some corn and "just basically a mix of odd stuff." I bet he ate it all, though! When I looked at the monthly menu he brings home, it said Tuesday's meal was supposed to be: 

Southwest Salad

Chicken, roasted corn & bk beans

Cucumber, tomatoes, onions

Crackers

OR Fruit

That's exactly how it was listed. Same spacing. Seems like something was missing, since I don't think crackers would be considered a dessert choice rather than fruit.

Anyhoo... Wednesday's menu looked better:

Chicken Parm w/noodles

Salad

Italian Blend

Breadstick

Chocolate Cake OR Fruit

But now, what you came here looking for! The reveal of Hick's latest "price" for winning bingo. Oh. Wait. You probably already saw it in the thumbnail. So not a great reveal. But here it is, in all its glory:

That's the same cereal Hick has won three times. He ate a box in SilverRedO. He gave me a box, which I ate in place of my daily Fake Honey Nut Cheerios with a banana. This cereal was okay by itself, but not great with a banana. It tasted like extra-sugary Cocoa Puffs. The third box, we gave to The Pony. Who agreed with my flavor profile, and also ate it straight out of the box.

The "tumblers" look like plain old disposable plastic cups to me. Perhaps not as strong as a red SOLO cup. And that third thing mystifies me. I can't read the label. Maybe "EXXTRA BANNER?" I'll ask Hick what it is... Heh, heh! In typical Hick fashion, he said, "It's a wall banner. To hang on a door." I can't make this up! Hick thinks his banner says "Happy 4th."

Anyhoo... the REAL excitement comes tomorrow, when I show you that Hick won another actual "price" at bar bingo on Tuesday night!

Val People Problems: The DQ Receipt Wrappers

It's no secret that Val is a fan of the soft pretzel sticks and queso sauce at Dairy Queen. When Hick is going to be absent for the evening, that's my go-to supper. They're on the 2-for-$5 menu. That's $5.47 with tax. I combine them with the basic cheeseburger. Not wasting that bargain on fries or soda. I can drink a Shasta Diet Cola with it at home.

I have an issue with the window process at the DQ drive-thru. I waited for 12 minute in line on Tuesday night. With this being Hick's new bar bingo night, he almost beat me home! I didn't get there until 5:40, and he returned before 7:30! That's hardly worth enjoying his absence!

Anyhoo... I've grown quite annoyed with the DQ receipt policy at the drive-thru window. No matter who is working that window, they all treat my receipt in the same manner. They take the card, and rather than hand it back to you, with the receipt in the bag, they FOLD THE RECEIPT AROUND THE CARD!

This is extremely off-putting for Val. Those receipts are LONG! Not as long as those given by Hick's pharmacy, CeilingReds. But long. I'd estimate this latest receipt to be about 11 inches long. 

Val is quite well-versed in paper sizes, after her many years of teaching. And 8.5 by 11 is a standard sheet of paper.

Anyhoo... these DQ window-workers take the card, and before returning it, wrap the receipt around it! Over and over! So you get back your card, with that receipt folded over it about six times. WHY??? Is that receipt trying to escape? Just put the receipt in the bag, or hand it back like a normal person! Nobody needs their card wrapped like a mummy in the receipt! This takes extra time for the window employee, and extra time for the customer to unwrap their card. Nobody's going to stick that card back in their wallet, purse, or pocket while it's encased in a receipt. No wonder the wait time is so long!

Is this a local issue? Or have you noticed such a policy at other locations?

Pooh-Poohed Evidence Left By the Naked Man

Nothing new on the tale of the naked man who broke into the QuickFlip house. Oops! I almost said OUR QuickFlip house. Which it will officially be, any day now. 

Anyhoo, here are a couple of pictures Hick took the next day, since it was getting dark by the time he got to town, and the city police finally sent someone to hear his complaint. I can understand how they might have been busy with more pressing situations. Hick was willing to wait. His issue was with them saying the incident was over, so no need to send anybody to take Hick's report.

Is that any way to treat a(n almost) house owner???

This was the state of the laundry room when Hick went around the house checking for any sign of entry. 

Everything dragged off of shelves and out of cabinets. The door in the background leads into the house. The laundry room is a back porch kind of situation. That is why Hick had the door to the house screwed shut, with a cabinet leaned against it. For security. You know, in case somebody broke in...

The police officer looked at this mess, and told Hick that Nudie couldn't have done it, because he was so sick he couldn't walk to the police car, and had to be helped. Which would imply that either Hick did this damage himself, or lived like that, I suppose! 

Hick also pointed out the damage done to the outer door, to get inside the laundry room.

Sure, it's not the nicest of doors to begin with. But it was a working door. You know, a barrier meant to keep people out, unless they have a key to the lock. What's that? WHERE'S THE LOCK? Oh, yeah. It was beaten off with a yard brick.

That's where the lock WAS. On the doorknob, now just a stump. Nudie's aim with a yard brick must not be very good. Or else he was going to beat his way though the wooden door instead of breaking off the doorknob. Maybe THAT'S why he needed help to walk to the police car. He was exhausted from his break-in efforts! Maybe he was trying to get into the front door using those water jugs. It's a mystery.

The house is being sold AS IS. Like I mentioned before, it's a QUICK FLIP. The Potential Buyer knows a good deal. No wonder she was willing to pay Hick to purchase and install a new metal front door, though he's replacing the back door at our cost.

Never a dull moment in the continuing adventures of Hick, Val, and The Pony.

Cinco de Mayo el Deniro

Hick stopped by our across-the-road neighbors' house on Sunday evening, to give them the $200 road money they had asked all our residents to contribute for upkeep of our gravel roads. Hick had seen the husband along the road a couple weeks ago, and stopped to talk, offering him our cash. Husband said he didn't want it right then, but to bring it over sometime.

Hick is loathe to drive over on the Gator. Well. On a lawnmower. Because right now the Gator needs something repaired. Anyhoo... even if Hick drives SilverRedO down our driveway, across the road, and down their driveway, the dogs will follow him. That's not good. You don't go bringing your dogs onto some other dogs' territory. So Hick has to be sneaky, and go on a return-home trip, before the dogs notice him.

Anyhoo... I suppose Hick did not realize that Sunday was Cinco de Mayo. Our neighbors like to have parties for special occasions. Hick was there for a half hour or more, just to hand them money. When he came home, he had a plate. Problem was, Hick had gone out to supper with The Pony. So he offered it to me, a paper plate covered with foil.

"You may not want to eat this."

"What is it?"

"I don't know. Tacos, I think. Wife made it, and insisted I bring it. She was pretty drunk. She set her water bottle on top of the plate a couple times."

"Well, get on Facebook tomorrow and tell her I liked it, even if I don't. It was nice of her to send it."

It wasn't too bad. By the time I was ready to eat, the taco shells were getting soft. I've never tried guacamole before. I gave it a taste, but didn't love it, didn't hate it. You can't really tell from the picture, but there was also some sour cream beside it.

It's the thought that counts. Though not worth $200 a plate...