I know my sweet baboo would do anything for me. Well, except buy me nice Christmas gifts. Or Mother's Day gifts. Or give me a kind word every now and then. But except for those minor issues, he would do anything for me.
Just this morning, in fact, Farmer H offered to go pick up The Pony from Grandma's house. At 9:00 a.m. When The Pony had been promised he could stay until 4:00. And just this morning, Farmer H took off to run around who-knows-where, and returned at 1:00. "Did you bring me a 44 oz Diet Coke," I asked hopefully." As if I even entered my sweet baboo's mind while he was early-morning carousing.
"Oh. No. But I'll get you one when I go to pick up The Pony this afternoon." That would work out just fine. We were planning to use a Casey's Pizza coupon for supper. Enough of the Christmas leftovers already. So I went about my business. Folded some laundry. Puttered around on the computer. Pointedly refused to wash the dishes. No small thanks to my best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel, who called last night and informed me that she had two, TWO dishwashers waiting for installation in her new house. I set Mabel straight from the get-go. "I, too, have TWO dishwashers. They are called, My Left Hand and My Right Hand. So there."
Farmer H laid around the shanty for a while. Watched some football. Probably took a nap in his La-Z-Boy. Then he went to the BARn, the sole purpose to crank up the heat for a larger bill, I'm sure. Then he told me he was leaving to run by The Devil's Playground and exchange a non-fitting mattress pad, and pick up The Pony, and fetch the pizza. He has connections who will sometimes let him use TWO coupons at once.
I ruminated on a blog post. Not this one. Are you kidding? This came right off the seat of my pants, because in 12 minutes I am going to be done with it and watching one of my three Christmas presents, The Heat. I dug out the last two years' tax receipts so the #1 son can stand in line at the license office (home of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's WORST DRIVER'S LICENSE PHOTO EVER) tomorrow to renew the license on the $1000 Caravan. Went upstairs. Closed the shades. Pointedly ignored the dirty dishes again. And eagerly awaited my pizza and 44 oz Diet Coke.
The guys arrived with the goods. A wonderful Sunday night lay ahead of me. Some blogging, a movie, no school tomorrow, pizza, and a 44 oz Diet Coke. Mmm...
"Did you get my soda?"
"OH! I forgot. I'll go get one right now."
"No. I'm not waiting another hour for it. I'll make one here. I've waited all day. Looking forward to it. If I'd known I wasn't getting one, I'd have made one earlier."
"I'm sorry. I just forgot."
Yeah. That seems to happen a lot when it's something my sweet baboo is asked to do for me.
2 comments:
There are things you can "forget" that would impact Farmer H.
You can "forget" to tell him you dumped some cement mix into his CPAP tubing while he was sleeping...
You can "forget" to warn him that you wanted to ensure the safety of the goats and chickens, so you put them all in Farmer H's BARn for a day or two...
You can "forget" to tell him you took in the waistband of his pants a few inches--all of his pants--making them all no longer fit.
There are many things you can be "forgetful" about...
Sioux,
CPAP? That would spray droplets of concrete onto my head to harden while I slept. I'd be like one of those popcorn ceilings by morning.
The goat/chicken caper might work.
The pants-shrinking sounds like too much work.
Whatever happened to forgetting that I was feeding him into a wood chipper?
Post a Comment