Some Even-Stevening occurred (with a vengeance) last night in Thevictorian household. Hick had come home from the auction. I heard him crank back in the La-Z-Boy. When I finished up what I was doing on New Delly, I went out to talk to him from the bottom of the stairs.
Normally, Hick mutes his 32-level TV volume (18 is sufficient for most people) and communicates while remaining in the La-Z-Boy. But this time, Hick stumped over to sit on the end of the long-couch arm. That discombobulated me, and it took a moment to regain my thoughts. I was in the middle of telling Hick about The Pony's computer-buying experience when he just walked off.
"Hey! What are you doing?"
"I feel sick. I have to go. I feel like I need to poop AND vomit."
Yet he took off stumping into the kitchen! When he should have made a left turn to reach the boys' bathroom in five steps, or a right turn to reach the master bathroom in ten.
"THAT'S not where you go to be sick!"
"I was throwing away that bowl from the strawberries. I came in and felt hungry, but then I started to feel sick right after I ate them."
"What else did you have?"
"Just some fish sticks and macaroni at the auction."
"Oh! Well. That must have done it. Were they greasy? Because that's not long enough to get food poisoning from it."
"No. Just regular fish sticks."
"What else did you have with JUST THE STRAWBERRIES?"
"Nothing. I had about three sips of that bottled water. That's it."
"Well, it must be the pulled pork you ate at the flea market on Sunday. Or something from the buffet at the casino last night. Do you need to go to the hospital?"
"No! My stomach is just upset."
"Huh. So you could eat the strawberries after I fixed them for you..."
"I said I was hungry when I came in."
"But you weren't going to eat them when I was about to throw them away."
"No."
"When was the last time you got anything ready for ME to eat, and put it in the refrigerator so I could have a snack later?"
"It's probably been a few years..."
"It's probably been NEVER! Just sayin'."
He knows I'm right. But to avoid admitting it, Hick hustled his tighty-whitied butt back into the bathroom.
Wednesday, May 16, 2018
Tuesday, May 15, 2018
Hick Is Not a Berry Good Fellow
I was putting away groceries in FRIG II this evening, while Hick was standing at the kitchen door, ready to head for his first auction this week. I saw a tipped-over, clear box holding 8 strawberries that had been there all week.
"Oh, I guess I can throw these out. Looks like you're not going to eat them."
"I like strawberries. I just didn't get to them yet."
"Come on. It's not like you're going to cut the tops off them yourself."
"Yeah. You're probably right."
Seriously. How hard is it to cut the tops off 8 strawberries if you want them for a snack? Here's the thing. When I make the evening meal, I'll get strawberries ready for eating. But often times, Hick shows up at irregular hours to make a sandwich for lunch. Or he says he'll warm his supper from leftovers when he's ready to come back in the house. Or he says he doesn't want some items until later, while he's watching TV. I'd already served up our strawberries earlier in the week, and 8 were left over.
Rather than throw them out tonight, I cut the tops off those strawberries after Hick had left.
Yeah. It's not rocket science. It takes about 90 seconds to wash them and lop off the stems and put them in a bowl for later. I set them on the top shelf of FRIG II, next to the bottles of Diet Mountain Dew, and sparkling water, that I put in there for Hick when he "forgets" to make sure his drinks are cool for later.
Why should I be the one to slice those strawberries, for Hick to have for a snack? Seriously. It's not like the olden days when the man worked for wages to support the woman, and she worked at home for free. I've had a career my entire life, same as Hick. We are both retired now. I appreciate how he mows the yard four months of the year, and takes the vehicles for repairs. I'm sure he appreciates having his food brought into the house and prepared for him 365 days a year, and his dishes washed (by hand).
However...I think that Hick is capable of cutting the tops off strawberries, rather than letting them sit there and rot because he wants them, but doesn't want to take the effort to prepare them, or throw them out if he is not in a strawberry mood.
This is the kind of thing, guys, that after 30 years makes us complain, and possibly even call you a JERK.
Oh, I'm sure you're oblivious to our resentment at being the EXPECTED ones to take the tops off your strawberries. As much as I love my Sweet Baboo, I think there are things that he can do for himself.
It's not all about the strawberries, you know.
Think for a minute. When was the last time YOU cut the tops off 8 strawberries, and put them in a bowl in your own FRIG II for your lady to enjoy later as a snack?
Exactly.
"Oh, I guess I can throw these out. Looks like you're not going to eat them."
"I like strawberries. I just didn't get to them yet."
"Come on. It's not like you're going to cut the tops off them yourself."
"Yeah. You're probably right."
Seriously. How hard is it to cut the tops off 8 strawberries if you want them for a snack? Here's the thing. When I make the evening meal, I'll get strawberries ready for eating. But often times, Hick shows up at irregular hours to make a sandwich for lunch. Or he says he'll warm his supper from leftovers when he's ready to come back in the house. Or he says he doesn't want some items until later, while he's watching TV. I'd already served up our strawberries earlier in the week, and 8 were left over.
Rather than throw them out tonight, I cut the tops off those strawberries after Hick had left.
Yeah. It's not rocket science. It takes about 90 seconds to wash them and lop off the stems and put them in a bowl for later. I set them on the top shelf of FRIG II, next to the bottles of Diet Mountain Dew, and sparkling water, that I put in there for Hick when he "forgets" to make sure his drinks are cool for later.
Why should I be the one to slice those strawberries, for Hick to have for a snack? Seriously. It's not like the olden days when the man worked for wages to support the woman, and she worked at home for free. I've had a career my entire life, same as Hick. We are both retired now. I appreciate how he mows the yard four months of the year, and takes the vehicles for repairs. I'm sure he appreciates having his food brought into the house and prepared for him 365 days a year, and his dishes washed (by hand).
However...I think that Hick is capable of cutting the tops off strawberries, rather than letting them sit there and rot because he wants them, but doesn't want to take the effort to prepare them, or throw them out if he is not in a strawberry mood.
This is the kind of thing, guys, that after 30 years makes us complain, and possibly even call you a JERK.
Oh, I'm sure you're oblivious to our resentment at being the EXPECTED ones to take the tops off your strawberries. As much as I love my Sweet Baboo, I think there are things that he can do for himself.
It's not all about the strawberries, you know.
Think for a minute. When was the last time YOU cut the tops off 8 strawberries, and put them in a bowl in your own FRIG II for your lady to enjoy later as a snack?
Exactly.
Monday, May 14, 2018
You Say Died, I Say Murdered
Friday afternoon, I got that text that no mother wants to get from her college son.
"I think I might need a laptop."
Let the record show that The Pony has been offered a laptop on numerous occasions over the past several years. The very youngest that his current (well, formerly current) laptop could be is 4 years old. I'm thinking it might be a little older. That's because I remember distinctly asking The Pony if he needed a new laptop for college when he went away in August 2016, and I would not have done that if he had a fairly new one.
I also remember that the last one he got was custom-ordered by Genius, who came home to set it all up for a Christmas present, so it would be ready to go on Christmas morning. So I kind of feel like it was even earlier than Christmas of The Pony's junior year of high school.
Anyhoo...part of The Pony's National Merit Scholarship to the University of Oklahoma included a $2000 cash stipend for a laptop. He didn't want it at the time, so that money is sitting there in his college savings account. It's not like getting him one is a financial hardship. Hick will be happy that we don't have to dip into our retirement nest egg, which you may recall, is the grouping of rocks down behind the house, left to be mined at a later date, that the man who bought our other rocks wanted.
"After my final Wednesday, I tripped and spilled a bunch of water on it. I got it off and a friend from IT helped me try to dry it out afterwards, but it's not booting up and she thinks it might be fried."
Well. That's unfortunate. But not like we've never experienced this before, what with Genius and the coffeed laptop. A laptop ain't safe in a house of hydrated Thevictorian men.
The Pony DOES always have a cup of ice water with him. So I don't have any reason to doubt that scenario, other than just a general shenanigan-dar that teachers develop. The Pony is very fortunate that his last final was over, and summer school doesn't start for a couple weeks. Because he's taking an online class along with a regular class. So the only hardship is in physically getting a laptop into his hands in time for that.
The Pony is kind of particular. He does a lot of computer gaming in his off time. And his major is Chemical Engineering, so I'm pretty sure there are certain things that laptop needs to be able to do that a basic one off the shelf at Walmart won't. We both put in a text to Genius, starting with NEED NEW LAPTOP. If nothing else gets his attention, that would. Also, we included that Genius wouldn't have to do anything to set it up, because The Pony's friend in IT could do it. So all Genius had to do is look over some laptops online, and see if their specifications will run what The Pony will need.
Here's where problems arise. The Pony can't receive packages from FedEx or UPS at his university-owned apartment complex. The clubhouse used to accept them, but stopped within a few weeks of The Pony moving in. He had nothing to do with the policy change! He said another resident complained about a situation, and the solution was to stop all such deliveries, and holding the package for residents to pick up within a couple days. They DID, however, put in lock boxes for U.S. Postal Service deliveries, alongside the mailboxes. According to Genius: "No company is going to ship a laptop through the post office. It will be FedEx or UPS."
Genius suggested that The Pony get a high-end laptop sold at the university bookstore. That's where Genius got one when his quit the day before an important presentation. Lucky that Genius backs up his work. I think that's the laptop that later got coffeed. Genius said The Pony could probably even have it billed on his bursar account.
Anyhoo...The Pony looked into it Sunday, and said the laptop would actually come through the IT Store, which won't bill to the bursar's account, and in fact he only got things billed that way before due to his National Merit scholarship, like certain textbooks.
So...the quandary now is getting the money to The Pony to buy a laptop, after he goes to look at three of them on Monday. These are in the $900-$1400 range, and there'll be tax, and Genius suggests a service plan. Just because. I can't say that I disagree.
Hick and I will be gone to a casino on Monday, as my Mother's Day gift. There is no cell phone reception in that casino. We're leaving at noon, and I kind of doubt The Pony will even be out of bed by then, much less have looked at three laptops, and know the price of the one he chooses. I figure I'll just do a remote deposit in his credit union account, which should only be PENDING for a couple hours. I can reimburse myself later from his savings account that's here locally, and not in Oklahoma.
My very own Shiba is at least 11 years old, ancient by laptop standards, a doddering decrepit companion, runs Windows 7 Professional, and tells me every time it starts up that something is no longer supported. At least it's not infested with ants...
Yet The Pony's laptop is the one that died. Huh. More like was murdered, I'd say. We can't rebuild him, but we can replace him.
It's really hard running other people's lives from home! Even harder from a casino.
"I think I might need a laptop."
Let the record show that The Pony has been offered a laptop on numerous occasions over the past several years. The very youngest that his current (well, formerly current) laptop could be is 4 years old. I'm thinking it might be a little older. That's because I remember distinctly asking The Pony if he needed a new laptop for college when he went away in August 2016, and I would not have done that if he had a fairly new one.
I also remember that the last one he got was custom-ordered by Genius, who came home to set it all up for a Christmas present, so it would be ready to go on Christmas morning. So I kind of feel like it was even earlier than Christmas of The Pony's junior year of high school.
Anyhoo...part of The Pony's National Merit Scholarship to the University of Oklahoma included a $2000 cash stipend for a laptop. He didn't want it at the time, so that money is sitting there in his college savings account. It's not like getting him one is a financial hardship. Hick will be happy that we don't have to dip into our retirement nest egg, which you may recall, is the grouping of rocks down behind the house, left to be mined at a later date, that the man who bought our other rocks wanted.
"After my final Wednesday, I tripped and spilled a bunch of water on it. I got it off and a friend from IT helped me try to dry it out afterwards, but it's not booting up and she thinks it might be fried."
Well. That's unfortunate. But not like we've never experienced this before, what with Genius and the coffeed laptop. A laptop ain't safe in a house of hydrated Thevictorian men.
The Pony DOES always have a cup of ice water with him. So I don't have any reason to doubt that scenario, other than just a general shenanigan-dar that teachers develop. The Pony is very fortunate that his last final was over, and summer school doesn't start for a couple weeks. Because he's taking an online class along with a regular class. So the only hardship is in physically getting a laptop into his hands in time for that.
The Pony is kind of particular. He does a lot of computer gaming in his off time. And his major is Chemical Engineering, so I'm pretty sure there are certain things that laptop needs to be able to do that a basic one off the shelf at Walmart won't. We both put in a text to Genius, starting with NEED NEW LAPTOP. If nothing else gets his attention, that would. Also, we included that Genius wouldn't have to do anything to set it up, because The Pony's friend in IT could do it. So all Genius had to do is look over some laptops online, and see if their specifications will run what The Pony will need.
Here's where problems arise. The Pony can't receive packages from FedEx or UPS at his university-owned apartment complex. The clubhouse used to accept them, but stopped within a few weeks of The Pony moving in. He had nothing to do with the policy change! He said another resident complained about a situation, and the solution was to stop all such deliveries, and holding the package for residents to pick up within a couple days. They DID, however, put in lock boxes for U.S. Postal Service deliveries, alongside the mailboxes. According to Genius: "No company is going to ship a laptop through the post office. It will be FedEx or UPS."
Genius suggested that The Pony get a high-end laptop sold at the university bookstore. That's where Genius got one when his quit the day before an important presentation. Lucky that Genius backs up his work. I think that's the laptop that later got coffeed. Genius said The Pony could probably even have it billed on his bursar account.
Anyhoo...The Pony looked into it Sunday, and said the laptop would actually come through the IT Store, which won't bill to the bursar's account, and in fact he only got things billed that way before due to his National Merit scholarship, like certain textbooks.
So...the quandary now is getting the money to The Pony to buy a laptop, after he goes to look at three of them on Monday. These are in the $900-$1400 range, and there'll be tax, and Genius suggests a service plan. Just because. I can't say that I disagree.
Hick and I will be gone to a casino on Monday, as my Mother's Day gift. There is no cell phone reception in that casino. We're leaving at noon, and I kind of doubt The Pony will even be out of bed by then, much less have looked at three laptops, and know the price of the one he chooses. I figure I'll just do a remote deposit in his credit union account, which should only be PENDING for a couple hours. I can reimburse myself later from his savings account that's here locally, and not in Oklahoma.
My very own Shiba is at least 11 years old, ancient by laptop standards, a doddering decrepit companion, runs Windows 7 Professional, and tells me every time it starts up that something is no longer supported. At least it's not infested with ants...
Yet The Pony's laptop is the one that died. Huh. More like was murdered, I'd say. We can't rebuild him, but we can replace him.
It's really hard running other people's lives from home! Even harder from a casino.
Sunday, May 13, 2018
A Gift Tailor-Made For Val
You'll never guess what Hick is giving me for Mother's Day! No...not a $3 pink change purse and two boxes of Sno-Caps. That gift is SO a-couple-years-ago. Hick is pretty crafty. He didn't even have to spend $3 and Sno-Cap money this year. He's taking me to a casino! Okay. So maybe some of you guessed that already.
My gift trip will be on Monday, to the casino where I won the hourly drawing and received $100 cash. I had a choice of that casino, or our regular one, with Hick pointing out that he would also buy me dinner if we went to the irregular casino. Glossing over the fact that we both will get a FREE buffet. He's a keen one, Mr. Hick.
Since we're on the subject of casinos, Val will take this teaching moment to give her thoughts on blog buddy JoeH's casino thoughts last week.
Joe never met a casino loser. He's talked to casino winners, and casino break-eveners, but either the losers shun him, or New Jersey is the place I need to gamble!
Let the record show that while Val may share some individual wins with you, she still makes it clear (if you read the regular-size fine print) that she is not an overall winner. Let's see how I've brought that fact to light on various posts. This detail has been revealed by phrases such as:
CasinoPalooza 3 was NOT a financial success!
[Genius]...took home over half of his gambling stake.
(still a loss, not a break-even, not a profit)
Let the record show that this was not a profit trip.
Let the record show that Sis and the ex-mayor emerged winners at the end of the night, while Val and Hick did not.
Our wallets did not grow fatter on Oklahoma Casino Minipalooza, but our waistlines most certainly did.
A NET LOSS OF $35.38.
CasinoPalooza 3 was a blast. I had a great time, even though I parted with some of my tightly-clutched pennies.
Of course, if I actually win, I'm most certainly going to tell you. Maybe more than once! But here at the (unbagged) cathouse, you'll hear the facts. That's because Val is not taking a chance on violating the Truth in Blogging Law! No siree, Bob! Val ain't goin' up the river to the big house for lyin'! OR risking a negative notation on her permanent record.
As a frequent casinoer, I am bound to have wins on individual machines. That doesn't mean that I left the casino with more money than I took in. Or even the same amount that I took in. Uh huh. Val is not a violator of the Truth in Blogging Law. She sings like a canary, and doesn't take the 5th.
Any time I leave the casino with part of my casino bankroll intact, I consider it a personal victory...NOT A WIN! And I don't break even unless I exit with the exact amount I took in. There's a reason it's called gambling, and not winning.
It's my own money I'm losing, money that I've earned over my lifetime, wagered a bit at a time, and kept cumulative "winnings" separate from household funds. Same as with Hick's junking money now. We're not on the dole, give to assorted charities, and help out local down-on-their luck folks we think could use a hand up, by providing vehicles, food, living quarters, travel money, or restoring electricity.
It doesn't bother me a bit to say that I'm a loser.
My gift trip will be on Monday, to the casino where I won the hourly drawing and received $100 cash. I had a choice of that casino, or our regular one, with Hick pointing out that he would also buy me dinner if we went to the irregular casino. Glossing over the fact that we both will get a FREE buffet. He's a keen one, Mr. Hick.
Since we're on the subject of casinos, Val will take this teaching moment to give her thoughts on blog buddy JoeH's casino thoughts last week.
Joe never met a casino loser. He's talked to casino winners, and casino break-eveners, but either the losers shun him, or New Jersey is the place I need to gamble!
Let the record show that while Val may share some individual wins with you, she still makes it clear (if you read the regular-size fine print) that she is not an overall winner. Let's see how I've brought that fact to light on various posts. This detail has been revealed by phrases such as:
CasinoPalooza 3 was NOT a financial success!
[Genius]...took home over half of his gambling stake.
(still a loss, not a break-even, not a profit)
Let the record show that this was not a profit trip.
Let the record show that Sis and the ex-mayor emerged winners at the end of the night, while Val and Hick did not.
Our wallets did not grow fatter on Oklahoma Casino Minipalooza, but our waistlines most certainly did.
A NET LOSS OF $35.38.
CasinoPalooza 3 was a blast. I had a great time, even though I parted with some of my tightly-clutched pennies.
Of course, if I actually win, I'm most certainly going to tell you. Maybe more than once! But here at the (unbagged) cathouse, you'll hear the facts. That's because Val is not taking a chance on violating the Truth in Blogging Law! No siree, Bob! Val ain't goin' up the river to the big house for lyin'! OR risking a negative notation on her permanent record.
As a frequent casinoer, I am bound to have wins on individual machines. That doesn't mean that I left the casino with more money than I took in. Or even the same amount that I took in. Uh huh. Val is not a violator of the Truth in Blogging Law. She sings like a canary, and doesn't take the 5th.
Any time I leave the casino with part of my casino bankroll intact, I consider it a personal victory...NOT A WIN! And I don't break even unless I exit with the exact amount I took in. There's a reason it's called gambling, and not winning.
It's my own money I'm losing, money that I've earned over my lifetime, wagered a bit at a time, and kept cumulative "winnings" separate from household funds. Same as with Hick's junking money now. We're not on the dole, give to assorted charities, and help out local down-on-their luck folks we think could use a hand up, by providing vehicles, food, living quarters, travel money, or restoring electricity.
It doesn't bother me a bit to say that I'm a loser.
Saturday, May 12, 2018
Not a CENTsational Week For Val
I regret to inform you that this weekly report on Val's Future Pennyillionaire Fortune is bereft of pennies! I know, right? That's like finding no hot dog in your bun! No biscuits under your gravy! Only 43 oz of Diet Coke!
Don't worry. Just because I have no new pennies this week doesn't mean I can't give you pennies. And by give you pennies, I mean to view. A picture of all pennies to date. Not a loan, not a stipend, not a gift. ONLY a picture.
For comparison, I give you the fabulous penny goblet holding the to-date collection on September 1, 2017.
Yeah. I've got more now than I did then.
Still not a full goblet, but getting closer.
I'd say it's about 1/3 full now.
Compared to just a scattering across the bottom then. I don't think I have the count back then, but right now, it stands steady from last week at
_________________________________________________________________________
For 2018: Pennies still at # 38.
For 2018: Dimes still at # 8.
For 2018: Nickels still at # 2.
Since 2017 (the beginning), this was Penny # 116.
Since 2017 (the beginning), this was still Dime # 14.
Since 2017 (the beginning), this was still Nickel # 2.
_____________________________________________________________________
Not that I'm trying to make you memorize my collection. Just putting it here so I only have to look back one week to add to the total IF next week I find a penny.
Also, please forgive the forlorn appearance of Poolio. Hick just uncovered him a couple days ago, and is in the process of filling him and shocking him back to life. A process which started with the relocation of several frogs to the green fake fish pond that Jack uses as his personal swimming pool, and the removal of two frog skeletons from Poolio's bottom.
Which is saying perhaps more than I should.
Don't worry. Just because I have no new pennies this week doesn't mean I can't give you pennies. And by give you pennies, I mean to view. A picture of all pennies to date. Not a loan, not a stipend, not a gift. ONLY a picture.
For comparison, I give you the fabulous penny goblet holding the to-date collection on September 1, 2017.
Yeah. I've got more now than I did then.
Still not a full goblet, but getting closer.
I'd say it's about 1/3 full now.
Compared to just a scattering across the bottom then. I don't think I have the count back then, but right now, it stands steady from last week at
_________________________________________________________________________
For 2018: Pennies still at # 38.
For 2018: Dimes still at # 8.
For 2018: Nickels still at # 2.
Since 2017 (the beginning), this was Penny # 116.
Since 2017 (the beginning), this was still Dime # 14.
Since 2017 (the beginning), this was still Nickel # 2.
_____________________________________________________________________
Not that I'm trying to make you memorize my collection. Just putting it here so I only have to look back one week to add to the total IF next week I find a penny.
Also, please forgive the forlorn appearance of Poolio. Hick just uncovered him a couple days ago, and is in the process of filling him and shocking him back to life. A process which started with the relocation of several frogs to the green fake fish pond that Jack uses as his personal swimming pool, and the removal of two frog skeletons from Poolio's bottom.
Which is saying perhaps more than I should.
Friday, May 11, 2018
Terror at 85 Degrees
For 28 years, Val had nerves of steel. Not much rattled her in the classroom. The captain of the ship must maintain an even keel. Be ever-ready to act or react with composure in the event of dangerous undercurrents and havoc-wreaking marauders.
Now Val is retired.
I'm not really a jumpy gal, even though reports of seeing (what I thought was) a dude peeping through my kitchen mini-blinds might lead you to think otherwise. I'm generally calm. Don't like to make a scene. But having Hick roaming at will is getting on my last nerve. Whether he is or isn't gaslighting me remains to be proven. Every time I hear something unexplained, and explain it by naming him as the explainable...he denies that he was out of bed walking around, or that he came into the house slamming the door while I was sleeping. Okay. He admitted to coming in at 8:45 a.m. last week, but not to entering or leaving at 9:15. I clearly heard both, and looked at the clock each time. He's lying, we had an intruder, or I need Ghostbusters on speed dial.
Anyhoo...today I got home from town and set about putting away the few groceries I had picked up at Save A Lot. This week has been really hot. No spring, just straight from winter to summer. It was 85 degrees when I stopped T-Hoe at the end of the driveway, and got out to wheel the big green trash dumpster back to the garage. I'd considered leaving it until evening, when the sun was down, but I wanted to get it over with. I parked it and walked back up to T-Hoe, then drove to the garage with the air conditioner blasting. It was not quite a long enough trip to cool me off.
Once inside the house, I didn't want to crank up the air conditioner. I was planning to descent to my dark basement lair anyway, and it's cool down there. But while stowing the purchases and getting my lunch together, I was roasting. We keep the thermostat at 74 degrees, which is fine if you're just lounging around, and haven't pulled a big green dumpster 2/10 of a mile over gravel in the bright sunlight.
Whew! My scalp was soaked, sweat trickling down my forehead and around my ears. Sheesh! I washed my doggy cat-kibble hands, and let some cold well-water run over my wrists, but I was still sizzling hot. Oh, what the Not-Heaven! I took off my shirt. There. I said it. In the privacy of my own kitchen, I partially disrobed. Hick was selling at his Storage Unit Store. I saw his Trailblazer there as I went by. They had customers walking around. Hick stays open on Fridays until 1:00, then goes to have lunch, and from there to his doctor's office for a shot for his pernicious anemia. He has a standing appointment for Fridays at 2:00.
I had the freezer stuff put away, and had set aside the baby carrots and onions that I'll be using tomorrow. My Chicken Bacon Ranch pinwheels were already on my tray. My 44 oz Diet Coke had been Cherry Limeaded, and a bubba cup filled with ice. Oh, wait. I wanted to look over the mail.
Juno was going crazy out in front yard. Then Jack started yipping. I figured they were carousing with Copper Jack. Juno hates him, you know. And I'd just doled out cat kibble when I came in, so Copper Jack was in her sight. Dang those darn fleabags! I heard thumping on the back porch, and saw Juno lope around toward her water bowl and food dish.
Back to ripping open the mail with a letter opener Hick got me at Goodwill. Not the cute little sword one. It proved too fragile, so he found another. Huh. A little bill from insurance for added liability we put on the 10 acres where HOS (Hick's Oldest Son) is living. A little refund check from insurance for lesser coverage on our aging 4-wheelers. The Sprint bill. More barking. This time on the back porch.
"EEEEEEEEEEE!"
The kitchen door was yanked open! And there I stood without a shirt! I'm surprised that letter opener didn't end up embedded in the ceiling.
"Stop your screaming. I came home to get my medicine I forgot this morning." (Hick takes it to the doctor's office, and they give him the shot. It's cheaper that way.)
Do you know how hard it is to pull a buttoned-up cotton shirt over your head while you are shaking with adrenaline?
"You don't have to put your shirt on. It's just me."
"How was I supposed to know IT WAS YOU? It could have been anyone! So don't tell me not to scream. I was minding my own business, without a shirt, in my own kitchen, and the door yanked open. So don't TELL ME to stop screaming! Why don't YOU stop popping up when you're not even supposed to be here?"
Hick didn't even slow down. He strode through the kitchen on the way to the master bathroom for his medicine, and then made the return trip clutching it in his hand.
I'm pretty sure he's trying to kill me. So it's probably a waste of breath to ask him to look for a defibrillator at the auction.
Now Val is retired.
I'm not really a jumpy gal, even though reports of seeing (what I thought was) a dude peeping through my kitchen mini-blinds might lead you to think otherwise. I'm generally calm. Don't like to make a scene. But having Hick roaming at will is getting on my last nerve. Whether he is or isn't gaslighting me remains to be proven. Every time I hear something unexplained, and explain it by naming him as the explainable...he denies that he was out of bed walking around, or that he came into the house slamming the door while I was sleeping. Okay. He admitted to coming in at 8:45 a.m. last week, but not to entering or leaving at 9:15. I clearly heard both, and looked at the clock each time. He's lying, we had an intruder, or I need Ghostbusters on speed dial.
Anyhoo...today I got home from town and set about putting away the few groceries I had picked up at Save A Lot. This week has been really hot. No spring, just straight from winter to summer. It was 85 degrees when I stopped T-Hoe at the end of the driveway, and got out to wheel the big green trash dumpster back to the garage. I'd considered leaving it until evening, when the sun was down, but I wanted to get it over with. I parked it and walked back up to T-Hoe, then drove to the garage with the air conditioner blasting. It was not quite a long enough trip to cool me off.
Once inside the house, I didn't want to crank up the air conditioner. I was planning to descent to my dark basement lair anyway, and it's cool down there. But while stowing the purchases and getting my lunch together, I was roasting. We keep the thermostat at 74 degrees, which is fine if you're just lounging around, and haven't pulled a big green dumpster 2/10 of a mile over gravel in the bright sunlight.
Whew! My scalp was soaked, sweat trickling down my forehead and around my ears. Sheesh! I washed my doggy cat-kibble hands, and let some cold well-water run over my wrists, but I was still sizzling hot. Oh, what the Not-Heaven! I took off my shirt. There. I said it. In the privacy of my own kitchen, I partially disrobed. Hick was selling at his Storage Unit Store. I saw his Trailblazer there as I went by. They had customers walking around. Hick stays open on Fridays until 1:00, then goes to have lunch, and from there to his doctor's office for a shot for his pernicious anemia. He has a standing appointment for Fridays at 2:00.
I had the freezer stuff put away, and had set aside the baby carrots and onions that I'll be using tomorrow. My Chicken Bacon Ranch pinwheels were already on my tray. My 44 oz Diet Coke had been Cherry Limeaded, and a bubba cup filled with ice. Oh, wait. I wanted to look over the mail.
Juno was going crazy out in front yard. Then Jack started yipping. I figured they were carousing with Copper Jack. Juno hates him, you know. And I'd just doled out cat kibble when I came in, so Copper Jack was in her sight. Dang those darn fleabags! I heard thumping on the back porch, and saw Juno lope around toward her water bowl and food dish.
Back to ripping open the mail with a letter opener Hick got me at Goodwill. Not the cute little sword one. It proved too fragile, so he found another. Huh. A little bill from insurance for added liability we put on the 10 acres where HOS (Hick's Oldest Son) is living. A little refund check from insurance for lesser coverage on our aging 4-wheelers. The Sprint bill. More barking. This time on the back porch.
"EEEEEEEEEEE!"
The kitchen door was yanked open! And there I stood without a shirt! I'm surprised that letter opener didn't end up embedded in the ceiling.
"Stop your screaming. I came home to get my medicine I forgot this morning." (Hick takes it to the doctor's office, and they give him the shot. It's cheaper that way.)
Do you know how hard it is to pull a buttoned-up cotton shirt over your head while you are shaking with adrenaline?
"You don't have to put your shirt on. It's just me."
"How was I supposed to know IT WAS YOU? It could have been anyone! So don't tell me not to scream. I was minding my own business, without a shirt, in my own kitchen, and the door yanked open. So don't TELL ME to stop screaming! Why don't YOU stop popping up when you're not even supposed to be here?"
Hick didn't even slow down. He strode through the kitchen on the way to the master bathroom for his medicine, and then made the return trip clutching it in his hand.
I'm pretty sure he's trying to kill me. So it's probably a waste of breath to ask him to look for a defibrillator at the auction.
Thursday, May 10, 2018
A Backroads Mystery
We have a problem, my blogfriends. Right here in Backroads City.
SOMEBODY HAS WON A MILLION DOLLARS!
I know, right? Such a problem to have. We (it takes a village to find a million-dollar winner) don't know who bought the winning ticket. But you'll never guess who sold it. Okay. Maybe you will.
THE GAS STATION CHICKEN STORE!
Don't you worry about Val being the problem. I don't buy PowerBall tickets, and that's the game that won the million dollars on Saturday night's drawing. I first heard about the news on Monday, when Man Owner told me as I bought two scratchers.
"Oh. Well, that's GREAT! I'm really happy for the winner. Because I don't play PowerBall. Now if it had been won on a scratcher that I buy, I might not be so happy for them..."
I should have figured something was up, because three dudes were standing right outside the door, leaning on the bed of a pickup truck, when I came in. One of them was saying, "Sure, it was ME! I'll go home and get it."
On Tuesday, the winner still had not appeared. Lady Owner was working, and she asked the lady ahead of me if she'd checked her PowerBall tickets yet. The lady said no, and I audibly gasped. She might have been the winner! She still had a chance, until she checked her tickets. Lady Owner said she hoped the winner was someone local, "Not just someone passing through, from Minnesota to Texas." Not even sure we're on a direct route for that journey. But I understand her sentiments.
By Wednesday, word got out. The local paper ran an article, basically stating that there was a million-dollar winner bought on PowerBall at The Gas Station Chicken Store. With a quote from Lady Owner that she was planning to call the Missouri Lottery office to see it the prize had been claimed, but she'd been too busy.
My sister the ex-mayor's wife sent me a text at 7:29 p.m. Probably during a commercial break for Survivor. I know she's a fan. "Are you the million dollar winner from The Gas Station Chicken Store?"
"No. I don't buy PowerBall."
"Okay. Just checking."
Hick thinks the winner probably knows they're the winner, and is waiting to talk to a lawyer before claiming the million.
Maybe I should send out a preemptive denial to Genius and The Pony. Just in case they hear about it. Don't want to get their hopes up, you know.
SOMEBODY HAS WON A MILLION DOLLARS!
I know, right? Such a problem to have. We (it takes a village to find a million-dollar winner) don't know who bought the winning ticket. But you'll never guess who sold it. Okay. Maybe you will.
THE GAS STATION CHICKEN STORE!
Don't you worry about Val being the problem. I don't buy PowerBall tickets, and that's the game that won the million dollars on Saturday night's drawing. I first heard about the news on Monday, when Man Owner told me as I bought two scratchers.
"Oh. Well, that's GREAT! I'm really happy for the winner. Because I don't play PowerBall. Now if it had been won on a scratcher that I buy, I might not be so happy for them..."
I should have figured something was up, because three dudes were standing right outside the door, leaning on the bed of a pickup truck, when I came in. One of them was saying, "Sure, it was ME! I'll go home and get it."
On Tuesday, the winner still had not appeared. Lady Owner was working, and she asked the lady ahead of me if she'd checked her PowerBall tickets yet. The lady said no, and I audibly gasped. She might have been the winner! She still had a chance, until she checked her tickets. Lady Owner said she hoped the winner was someone local, "Not just someone passing through, from Minnesota to Texas." Not even sure we're on a direct route for that journey. But I understand her sentiments.
By Wednesday, word got out. The local paper ran an article, basically stating that there was a million-dollar winner bought on PowerBall at The Gas Station Chicken Store. With a quote from Lady Owner that she was planning to call the Missouri Lottery office to see it the prize had been claimed, but she'd been too busy.
My sister the ex-mayor's wife sent me a text at 7:29 p.m. Probably during a commercial break for Survivor. I know she's a fan. "Are you the million dollar winner from The Gas Station Chicken Store?"
"No. I don't buy PowerBall."
"Okay. Just checking."
Hick thinks the winner probably knows they're the winner, and is waiting to talk to a lawyer before claiming the million.
Maybe I should send out a preemptive denial to Genius and The Pony. Just in case they hear about it. Don't want to get their hopes up, you know.
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