Tuesday, March 10, 2015

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom Is The New Old Mother Hubbard's Dog

You how it is after you come home from a long day at work, worn down to a nub from people whittlin' away at your self esteem, tired to the bone from going to bed at 2:00 and getting up at 5:00, driving to work in the dark in a drizzling rain with no lines painted on the edge or middle of the blacktop, cat pawprints refusing to wash from your windshield, one headlight beaming up to guide new colonists to Mars, one searching for muskrats in the ditch?

And you know how there is very little reward for coming straight through the door and whipping up supper for everyone else, breaking your back to warm food in the oven or heat it in the microwave, washing up your dishes by hand? How you look forward to sitting down with your own supper, and enjoying the sole indulgence of your workday life: a single can of Coca Cola? Not even a whole can. Three-fourths of a can. Icy cold from the basement mini fridge. Mmm...so crisp. So refreshing. So sweet. So picky-uppy.


The Pony has two jobs here at the Manison. Transport of the trash dumpster to and from the end of the driveway once a week...and STOCKING THE BASEMENT MINI FRIDGE WITH SODA! It's all we ask of him. No cleaning, no snow shoveling, no grass mowing, no animal feeding.

For some reason The Pony rations the soda. He only puts in two of each kind. Two Cokes. Two Diet Cokes. Two Sprites. There's plenty more room. That last time there were no cold Cokes, The Pony dared to say, "Well, you must have taken one out and not told me, because I always put in two, and when I take out the last one, I put in two more." Okay. So while he was at bowling on Saturday, I took out a Coke. I did not know it was the last. I had told him to put one on the middle shelf, so I didn't have to stand on my head to look for it on the bottom shelf of the mini fridge that sits on the floor. Obviously he knew I was taking a Coke Saturday.

I skipped one Sunday. But then on Monday, The Pony handed me a cold Coke. So obviously it had not been the last one on Saturday. And since he gave me one on Monday, that meant he would have put two more in, right? Because he always puts two in after handing out the last one.


Two jobs for that kid. A cold Coke for me. I don't ask for much.

You know what I'm going to start hollering, instead of, "Hey! Pony!" Do you? Do you know what I'm going to holler from now on when I want The Pony's attention?

"Hey! Old Mother Hubbard!" Let him figure it out.


Sioux said...

Do kids even know nursery rhymes any more? I think you need a more contemporary shout-out.

Hillbilly Mom said...

Well, I suppose I should dress in costume and put on a play as well. Maybe I could simply holler, "Hey! Katniss! We're starving here! Hows about you go round up a squirrel or some burned bread?"