Saturday, March 2, 2013

Indeed. The Punchlines Write Themselves.

The #1 son left home yesterday afternoon. He's not one to let a good snow day go to waste. The snow was gone by then, anyway. It kept falling, but disappeared on contact. His plan was to get a haircut, watch some movies at a friend's house, and play games. He planned to be home by 11:00. He called later that evening. "Dude's dad came down and told me to be careful on the way home. He says that he just got a call from the sheriff, who said the roads are getting bad. Is it all right if I spend the night here?"

"He's telling you to go home, heh, heh."

"No. He doesn't care if I stay."

"Okay. Because of the snow. Call me in the morning before you leave." Yeah. That's how we roll here in Hillmomba. Everybody has a direct hotline to law enforecement.

We woke up to find an inch of flurries coating the yard, sidewalk, porch, and swimming pool. Farmer H had to turn around and take a different route to work because he saw a car off each side of the road. The magical snow tires on his thousand-dollar Caravan slid him twenty feet in a stopping attempt. Again, that's how we roll in Hillmomba. No use getting out one of the four-wheel drive automobiles when you can drive a thousand-dollar Caravan with snow tires.

The #1 son called at 8:15. "I did not expect to wake up in a Winter Wonderland. Dad sent me a text that the roads are bad. Should I try to make it now, or wait to see if it melts?"

"Well, he said the main roads are clear. Cars have been going in and out on our gravel road. And you have your truck."

"But Dad has front-wheel drive. All that engine weight is on it."

"You have a load of wood in the back of your truck. Plus four-wheel drive."

"I haven't had wood since Christmas!"

I heard a hoot in the background. Then mutterings, murmurings, and mumblings. "I'll bet the people listening to your end of the conversation will have a field day with that one."

"Yeah. They already are."

That's as good as the time I called him at another friends house freshman year, to ask him what kind of gas station chicken he wanted. "I like breasts."

Self-writing, I tell you.


2 comments:

Sioux said...

And now you need to write them down, because some day, he will meet a girl he wants to marry--and you want to have all these tidbits jotted down to share with her.

Hillbilly Mom said...

Sioux,
He's such a catch! Did you know he can half-way open a can of vegetables, and add a tiny bit of ground pepper to a pot of soup? I'm surprised the belles are not lined up to the end of the driveway already.