Monday, February 9, 2015

A Function Of Farmer H's Driving, Or Mrs. HM's Endowments?

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is still shaking after three days of riding around in T-Hoe with Farmer H.

No, I am not shaking from fright, from the fear of his infernal sweaving that would no doubt beat an eager young border collie in that AKC agility trial of weaving through 3-foot tall poles. Except Farmer H goes through the motions in T-Hoe without any poles or reason.

I am shaking from the physical execution of Farmer H's driving style. SWEAVING! At a higher-than-necessary rate of speed. Except when he's going slower than necessary. For example, jouncing down our pothole-choked gravel road at 30 mph, jamming my vertebrae into each other, or into the base of my skull. Or puttering along at 20 mph on the smooth paved road in front of the bowling alley, criss-crossing from one edge to another.

It was on our gravel road that I first questioned Farmer H's driving ability.

"Slow down! You are breaking my neck."

"I'm just going up the hill, Val. I didn't make the road."

"This is too fast for all the potholes you're hitting. You're breaking my neck!"

"I'm not going that fast, Val. You'll be fine."

Seriously. Is it me, not him? You be the judge. I'll retain the titles of jury and executioner.

Is it normal for one's bra strap to be jounced right off her shoulder during a Farmer H excursion through the potholes? Because I think not. I never heard tell of any fine city wife having her bra strap jump ship due to the driving of her husband.


Kathy's Klothesline said...

You don't feel them as much when you are driving, you have the steering wheel to hold onto. Same thing happens to me when I am the passenger. I am a more considerate driver, striving to avoid the potholes. You are, no doubt, a more considerate driver, too.

Sioux said...

Ditch the bra. Let the girls free. Then, you won't have to worry about those pesky bra straps.

Goodness, getting into such a tizzy over something that is so easily fixed. Perhaps your son's high IQ IS due to your husband's genes...

Hillbilly Mom said...

This comment has the makings of a hilarious misunderstanding.

Because, for instance, if I did not recall that my topic was potholes, and jumped to the conclusion that you were talking about my...erm...endowments...I would think you're telling me that I don't feel my breasts as much when I'm driving, because I have the steering wheel to hold onto instead of my breasts. Heh, heh.

And of course I'm a more considerate driver!

Ditch the bra? That, Madam, is considered LITTERING around these parts. Maybe the ditches in the city are filled with bras, while drivers are beaten willy-nilly with flapping breastesses...but in Hillmomba, we obey the laws of driving AND physics.

My son's high IQ is due to the formative years that he spent parked in front of the TV watching cartoons. His genes might as well have come from Goodwill like his father's jeans.