Sunday, May 17, 2015

It's A Good Thing I'm Not A Giraffe

Hey! Remember that old Porter Wagoner/Dolly Parton song, "Is Forever Longer Than Always"? I'm sure you'll know it if you hear it. I was going to give you a link, but YouTube is mad at me. I can't wait to tell my BFF Google, but I think they might be cousins, so maybe I shouldn't vent.

Anyhoo...that's what I'm going to ask Farmer H when we're both retired. Is forever longer than always? Because I don't know how long I can stand him shoving his roving arm up under my pillows every night. No, I'm not using a euphemism. I mean my actual pillows. The three I have piled JUST RIGHT, so perfect that Goldilocks would rest her head there if she had the chance. Thing is, by the time I go to bed, I have to fight off the invasion of the pillow latcher. Farmer H, you see, does not steal them for himself. He simply disrupts the lay of the stand. I stack them. There's a squishy one on the bottom, against the headboard. Then a flat one that ramps up against it. Then my main pillow, which is sort of the capstone to the other two. Together, they provide a restful slumber for my weary head.


I might as well chuck that whole handbasket factory idea, and invest in neck braces. Farmer H roots his big fat anaconda arm under the bottom two pillows, and knocks them a-kilter. He denies it, of course. And in a hateful, huffy manner. "I didn't touch your pillows!" he snarls, while he is buried up to his bicep under my three-tiered headrest.

What I really want to do is fill that section of bed with mousetraps. Armed mousetraps! But then I think he might not feel the snap, like an evil poodle may not feel the bite of the BB when shot for yard invasion with intent to rough up my sweet, sweet Juno. So maybe I should set a big ol' bear trap next to my pillows. That would do the trick! For Farmer H, of course. For that poodle, I would have to put the bear trap in the yard.

In fact, a bear trap would help with my other idea. The idea that Farmer H should remove his arms every night before bed. You know, like that Inspector Gadget toy that my kids used to get limb by dismembered limb with their Happy Meal. Farmer H could snap off his arms every night at bedtime. Not the whole arm. Just the forearms. He could keep them in violin cases under the bed. Though it might be difficult to latch and unlatch the violin cases once his forearms were off. But that's not my problem. A good night's sleep with my JUST RIGHT pillows is my problem. I don't care what it takes to get me there.

I think, once we are both retired, that Farmer H and I should sleep on different shifts, in different locations. Him out in the corn crib in the evening, and me in the bed with my pillow tower in the early morning.

Excuse me. I'm off to build a corn crib.


Sioux said...

A corn crib? Hick is getting the DE-luxe treatment. Most men--when they're all willy-nilly with other people's pillows--only deserve a ditch to sleep in.

I'm taking bets on how long the two of you last--both retired--until you run screaming and beg for a job at The Devil's Playground... just so you can get away from Hick and his Hickdom... and all those endless hours of togetherness.

Hillbilly Mom said...

Wait! Do I have another man? Is one not enough? Better yet, is one not too many? Who is this Hick fellow with whom I am now sleeping? Are you putting me in your novel?

If, on the other hand, we're talking about my matrimonial counterpart...Farmer is HE who will beg for a job at The Devil's Playground, because I will drive him there each day and drop him off. Or sit out front with him in a cardboard box labeled, "FREE."

Sioux said...

Whoops! I used "hick" as a proper noun and really, I meant it as a common noun. I mean, you folks live in the country. Isn't your matrimonial counterpart a "hick"?

Hillbilly Mom said...

OH! That explains it. I should not expect a person of your profession to understand the intricacies of capitalization. ;)