Wednesday, February 5, 2014

Hillbilly Mom Is Still A Little Off

Ol' Man Winter is kicking our butt. Newmentia's butt, anyway. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's butt is fat and sassy, plopped in the La-Z-Boy, in the her dark basement lair chair, or in her blue basement recliner. No skin off HM's nose if she has to stay home from work.

The only hardship is the thwarting of the quest for the 44 oz. Diet Coke. I did not venture out today. The Pony went out to feed and water the chickens and the stupid goats. Stupid. You'd think those old goats would stand together in their very first wooden shed, the one they crammed 11 of themselves in at night to sleep back in the day, stepping on an hours-old kid, which thankfully proved hardy enough to survive. Or maybe they'd want to stand in the lean-to devoted to them over at the BARn, the lean-to with a roof over their heads, hay to stand and lay in, bales of which form a wall to block out wind on the only exposed side. But no. The goats chose to stand in the middle of the pen, not under trees, not shielded by the feed trough or the Gator shed. Goats. The roaches of Hillmomba.

Oh, yes. The missing 44 oz. Diet Coke. Let the record show that Mrs. HM is getting by on a mere 24 oz. today. On home-made Diet Coke, in a 44 oz. cup, half full of crushed ice from Frig, half full of two cans of store-boughten Diet Coke, along with a sprinkling of Great Value Sugar Free Cherry Limeade Powder. It was actually quite tasty, though only half as filling.

Newmentia. So close but yet so far. I wonder if I could pitch a reality show called 17 Days and Counting.


Sioux said...

Maybe on these snow days you could make Farmer H stay home as well, install a bunch of cameras all over the house, and it could be like that show "Big Brother."

THAT would make a great reality show.

knancy said...

Store-boughten - Ha. ha. ha! I caught myself saying that once. Made my neck twerk around and my brain reboot. As a West Virginian I am forbidden to speak in that fashion, ya' know.

Hillbilly Mom said...

I LOVE Big Brother. I can hardly wait for it to start every July, even though that means it's almost time to return to school. BUT...that's not enough to make me wish for Farmer H to stay home and spend the day with us.

But it sounds so country right! I suppose you can't relax in a rocker on the porch, smoking a corncob pipe while whittlin', either.