Do you know the Hot Dog Man, who lives in Hillmomba?
I'm sure you know him. One Farmer H, significant other of Hillbilly Mom, father of The Pony and the #1 son. And I'm sure you know that he loves hot dogs. He'd drape himself in hot dogs if it was socially acceptable. Just like Farmer H once ate six month old bologna, he would eat six month old hot dogs. They're so much easier than slopping a leftover on a paper plate and sticking it in the microwave. As long as there are hot dogs to be had, Farmer H will never go hungry.
This morning, Farmer H volunteered to make The Devil's Playground run. He's a good egg like that, seeing as how my left knee is under the weather from my Friday flu shot. Or more likely from my sedentary lifestyle and two prior surgeries. Of course I gave Farmer H a list. I did it several weeks ago when I was on my deathbed after a visit to Urgent Don't Care, and he performed this function admirably.
Normally, I would pick up hot dogs at Save A Lot. They have a giant pack of giant hot dogs. Good to have on hand when Farmer H's Number One Son comes out with his kids, and they go down to the creekside cabin for a weenie roast. But, being laid up with a bum leg, I did not wish for Farmer H to have to go two places to do the shopping as I do. So I added hot dogs to my Devil's Playground list. AND I told him, when handing him the list, "Tear off the top part and The Pony will run get that stuff. You can start over by the hot dogs. Just get a pack so we can have chili dogs one night." Farmer H loves chili dogs.
Perhaps I should have been more specific.
When the foragers returned home, I asked The Pony, "Did Dad get everything on the list?"
"I think so. And he got some kind of pizza. But he wasn't sure about the hot dogs."
I soon saw why, as I hobbled into the kitchen to put away the three things The Pony said he didn't know what to do with, namely a deli pizza, a big sandwich to be hacked up for my week's lunches, and the hot dogs. Remind me to introduce The Pony to Frig II. I suppose all this time he has merely considered that appliance to be decorative.
"WHY DID DAD GET ALL THESE HOT DOGS?"
"I told you he wasn't sure."
It was a 24 PACK of Bar S hot dogs, slim as a Ticonderoga #2, in a package that could not be resealed. You know what that means. Farmer H would rip the package open with his pocket knife, extract several hot dogs, then lay it back down on Frig II's bottom glass shelf to leak its fluids all under the Marvella box and the 203 egg cartons holding our hen fruit. I opened the pack and stored all 24 hot dogs in our Chinese Tupperware: two rectangular white plastic containers with clear tops, used for takeout before they wised up and went Styrofoam.
Those 24 hot dog slivers wouldn't make 8 robust Save A Lot hot dogs. AND Farmer H only got one pack of buns. So we have 24 hot dogs and 8 buns.
I heard him eat two before he went to the auction at noon. That means 2 down, 22 to go.