Remember a couple of days ago when I showed you Upholstery-and-Fence Henge?
Our trash pickup is a day late due to the holiday. This morning we went out the driveway to the sight of that eyesore mocking us from across the gravel road. "I really hope that thing is gone when we get back, Pony. Surely they've called somebody to come pick it up."
So...as we crested the hill, with bated vision, eager to find out whether we were still neighbors to that monument...you could have heard a pin drop, if it was a big ol' hat pin, and the floor mats and carpet of T-Hoe had been peeled back down to the bare metal.
"WHAT? The fence is gone, but the couch is still there!"
"Oh, great. What if your father took that fence to use for something in the goat pen?"
"But that was still there this morning, and Dad has been at work all day."
"So we think. We'll know when we get in the garage."
Whew! That bullet was dodged. Farmer H was not home. So somehow, that fence was picked up by the trash company, I presume, since nobody had helped himself to it in several days of Henge-ing already. Maybe there's a policy for the trash haulers of not picking up furniture.
At any rate, we are now only the neighbors of Couch Henge. Let's hope it doesn't gain 29 buddies.
2 comments:
Here in BigCityLand, we have gangs. Gangs that shoot. Gangs that do drive-bys. Gangs that terrorize. No one feels safe. We tremble with fear.
I guess in your part of the world you have gangs as well. Gangs that threaten discarded building materials. No fence feels safe, I imagine...
Sioux,
There you go, Madam, always touting the perks of your neck of the pavement. Well, let me tell YOU something that will make your hair stand on end. In my next post, of course...
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