His Timing Is Bad, Couldn't Get Badder, If You Can't Hear Me Now, I'll Yell A Little Madder!

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is hot to trot! In her best ol' ex-teaching buddy Mabel's way. Which is not a good thing.

I pulled into the garage yesterday, all the way at 5:15. That's LATE. Even for Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. The Pony and I sometimes make it home by 4:00, and usually by 4:30. But yesterday, I had to stay after school to work on what the card-carrying members of The Semi-Weekly Meeting of the Newmentia Lunch Time Think Tank call THIS NEW CRAP THAT'S DUE BY THE END OF NEXT WEEK. I didn't make much headway, even though I did a lot of it in May. You know how The Man is always out to get you, changing horses in the middle of the stream. So a lot of that work was in vain, for free, hours of my life I will never regain. So...I had to bring work HOME!!! That is unheard of. Mrs. HM has not done that in many a year. She has efficiently streamlined her procedures (as opposed to inefficiently streamlining them) so that she has her time to herself once she leaves the building.

Once we left the building towing that homework, we had to stop by the post office. Not the dead-mouse-smelling one. It closes early. This was the main hub. Where those tortoises run relays in and out of our varicose-veined legs, laughing like hyenas at their audience, trapped like insects in amber.

On we rushed, to the Mansion, where I was whipping up some fish and a baked potato for The Pony, and vegetables with fake Velveeta for the grown-ups. Of course there was slaw in Frig II, but I'm sure Farmer H did not partake, since I didn't set it out. Wait a minute. I'm getting ahead of myself.

I pulled into the garage. All the way at 5:15. Supper to cook, dishes to wash, homework to do. Oh, and did you know I've been sick as a dog for two weeks? And that I have jury duty Thursday and Friday?  Do you know what I saw in the garage? Farmer H, taking apart my grandma's kitchen table that he parked in the garage...oh...let's see...counting fingers...counting toes...counting on Sweet Gummi Mary to prevent me from committing Farmercide...on around...no...let's be exact...AUGUST 17th! The night before school started, when Farmer H insisted on driving to town and loading up stuff from my mom's house.

FIVE WEEKS! Five weeks that furniture has been in the garage, with him saying every Saturday that he was moving the table into the kitchen! And...Farmer H chooses the worst possible day to deal with the switch-over. WHO moves a table from the garage to the house on a Tuesday night? WHO? And who gets his wife riled up the night before school starts, when she has worked all week PLUS stayed late for open house?

Did I mention I've been sick? And that I had to cook? And wash dishes? And do homework? AND get plans ready to leave tomorrow at Newmentia by the end of the day, because I have jury duty Thursday and Friday?

There was my current kitchen furniture sitting on the back deck. While inside my kitchen was...um...nothing but the fixtures. And a half-empty bottle of Sprite, and a half-empty bottle of Coke, lined up along the wall under the windows. We don't drink soda out of two-liter bottles. Farmer H does not drink sugar soda at all. This had to be left from festivities at my mom's house last year. Christmas. WHY WOULD ANYONE SAVE THAT? Where had it been?

Hot to trot, people. Hot to trot.