Thursday, April 9, 2015

Not The Most Delightful Way To Enter The Workplace



Day 3 of the unending downpour kicked off with a whimper as we left the driveway after The Pony hauled the trash dumpster through the drizzle. We stopped for gas, because T-Hoe was growing a mite peckish, down to a quarter of a tank, which I never let happen. The wind swirled around me in a whimsical fashion, first mussing my lovely lady mullet one way, then taking a different tack as I turned my head to adjust. I might as well have combed it with an electric mixer.

By the time we got to Newmentia, the skies were darker than when we left home, and rain was beating down like rice thrown by a petulant ex-husband who has taken his kids to their mother’s next wedding. I dropped The Pony at the door, after instructing him to get me an umbrella from T-Hoe’s rear. I drove back to our space in the next to next to last parking slot at the end of the building, and picked up the umbrella from the passenger seat.

In keeping with his fashion of selecting the most dented can, the most squashed bread, and the most crushed chips, The Pony had picked a special umbrella for me from the trio we keep stashed in case of emergency. It was the red-and-royal-blue-paneled umbrella with the bent metal spike on top, and the fabric ripped from one pointy metal rib, so that it flaps in the wind. The smallest of our umbrella triplets. Let the record show that Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is not the smallest of anything. I felt like an elephant in a circus holding a tiny parasol in my trunk.

As I started down the sidewalk, I debated on whether to hold down my flapping shirt so as not to expose my ample cleavage when the wind whipped the shirt up over my head…or to hold onto that umbrella with both hands as it shot to and fro with the forceful winds. I chose the umbrella. The parking lot was not heavily occupied, unless you count those 18-inch worms undulating across the blacktop. The prime audience would be those folks sitting around the office watching the security camera feeds.

All I needed was a flat-topped hat and a large satchel.

Oh, and a spoon full of sugar.

4 comments:

Sioux said...

Chim-chimmery, chim-chimmery, chim-chim-charoo.

Good luck'll come if they get to see your b**bs.

Hillbilly Mom said...

Sioux,
WHAT? That, Madam, is preposterous! Mass blindness would result. Hysterical blindness, because the sight would be so upsetting.

Hillbilly Mom said...

Sioux,
WHAT? That, Madam, is preposterous! Mass blindness would result. Hysterical blindness, because the sight would be so upsetting.

Hillbilly Mom said...

So nice I said it twice. BLOGGER has some issues, it seems, having posted one comment for each b**b.