Of Locusts And Shady Salesmen

Sweet Gummi Mary! It's bill-paying Friday already!

Of course my mom has this day penciled into her busy social calendar. She has been looking forward to some Rally's. And visiting with me, of course. The Pony decided to ride along with us, because he craves some Rally's fries. He's spending the rest of the afternoon, and tonight, with his grandma. We had today off from school because the selfless faculty of Newmentia served four hours of parent conference time Tuesday night, and five hours of conference time Thursday night. In Newmentia math, that nine hours of conference time is equal to a seven-hour school day.

The Pony and I stopped by the credit union first, to deposit a hefty chunk of hard-earned cash towards his college fund. Heh, heh. I first typed "fun" instead of "fund." Ain't THAT the truth! Then we gathered up Grandma and a bottle of water and about 10 sandwich bags because we're out. Oh, and in return, we gave her a dozen eggs and a half-full small container of sweet & sour sauce. Of course you want to hear the rest of the story.

Farmer H said he wanted me to take Mom some eggs. Now that he's been finding four a day, he's an egg baron again. He says Juno is off her feed. I say poor departed Tank the coop sleeper is the missing integer in this equation. We agree to disagree. So there he is, Farmer H, standing at the kitchen counter this morning swapping out eggs from the 18 carton into a 12 carton. "I'm giving your mom the little eggs. Because I know she's a little eater." You might remember how Farmer H was always giving my mom the little banty eggs last year, because, he said, "Your mom LOVES those little eggs!"

And you also might remember how Mom told me, "I don't really know what to do with those little eggs. I'm not sure how they fit in recipes."

So, after a three or four minute pause, Farmer H reiterated, "Yeah. I'm giving her those little eggs because she's a little eater. And because my customers won't buy the little eggs. They want the BIG eggs." He's all heart, that one.

The sweet & sour sauce was supposed to be a condiment for half a container of white rice, half a container of fried rice, one whole crab rangoon, and the crispy corners of my partially-consumed crab rangoons. Except that the #1 son returned from a supper meeting with an old girlfriend who just happened to be in town this week for spring break, and was leaving within three hours. Around 8:30, #1 strolled into my dark basement lair, saw those crunchy corners on a plate at my left elbow, snatched a handful and stuffed them in his mouth, and said, "I see there's sweet & sour sauce in the fridge. Is there any chicken?"

"No. You said you were having supper out. The Pony is at band contest. Your dad and I had Chinese. There's no chicken. I had some white rice left, and he had some fried rice left."

"Oh. Okay."

Later, he confessed to eating both rices, and the lone crab rangoon, as well as taking the rest of my crispies. "I threw that sauce away. There was very little left."

When I went to bed around 2:30 a.m., I saw that sweet & sour sauce in the trash. Closed up in its container. Sitting on top of the two styrofoam dinner containers. Yep. I pulled a Costanza. "That's still good. It's in the container with the lid on. It's not touching any trash. It will be fine." I put it in Frig until we were ready to leave this morning. I did confess to Mom where it came from. She was not at all shocked, nor averse to eating it. It's not like it was an eclair on a doily.

I was afraid that my five-dollar-daughtership would suffer, what with telling her there was no rice or rangoon. Silly me. Today I was the eleven-dollar daughter at Rally's.

And she even tossed in a $1.99 coupon.