Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is slipping. Backsliding. Perhaps more like rolling.
In my dark basement lair, I have a rolly chair. Actually, I have two. My old one, and the new one I got for Christmas. In addition, I have the one with one arm that the #1 son bought for $10 at Goodwill. And in the garage right now, I have the one from my mom's house. So I have four rolly chairs to choose from. Doesn't matter.
On the press-down tile of my dark basement lair lies a clear plastic mat, suitable for rolly-chairing on carpet. It is at least 16 years old. And yellow. No, it's not supposed to be yellow. It's not yellow completely, just in the area in front of the electric heater I keep under the desk.
Every time I sit down in my rolly chair, it rolls backwards. No matter which way I drag it to change the direction of the five wheels. In addition, the seat is slanted. I know there's a way to adjust it. I've done it before. By accident. Only the #1 son knows how to fix my chair. I know that, because every time he's home and happens to sit in it, it's different. I know how to raise and lower it. But not how to get it off that slant that makes me go down a slide every time I'm seated in it.
So here's the deal. I am constantly sliding out of that chair. I go to hoist myself back into it, and I roll backwards. In fact, I roll backwards pretty much on a whim. When I merely think about rolling backwards. And when I don't.
When I sit down in that rolly chair and pull up to the desk, I almost slide out. It's like I hit a speed bump. And then I find myself creeping away from the desk as I type. The Pony broke the news to me a couple of weeks ago.
"You know, right, that your mat is warped? It has ridges. Your wheels get on them, and that's why your roll backwards."
That Pony. He's a real Encyclopedia Brown.