In The Winter An Old Man's Fancy Heavily Turns To Thoughts Of Trusses

We are one-third of the way through winter, and Farmer H can barely still his beating heart. I came home to find his new love sprawled on the ground out behind the garage. For SHAME! All splayed out, leaving nothing to the imagination. In plain view of the road, for all the neighbors to see. I'll bet their tongues are sore from wagging. Yet Farmer H's latest infatuation bared herself to the elements and prying eyes. Bare as the skeletal timbers of an unshingled roof!

That's because she IS the skeletal timbers of an unshingled roof.

Farmer H's people, you see, work on their own timetable. Dropping in to throw metal in the back of an unmarked truck. Tossing trusses to and fro. Leaving bald patches in the thawing front acreage from spinning tires. And leaving MY MOM'S INHERITED CEDAR CHEST IN THE MIDDLE OF THE GARAGE! Good thing they left the light on for me.

Yeah. The nerve of that Ragtag Gaggle of Roofermen! I suppose they think electricity pays for itself. And that the purpose of a garage is to pile a long cedar chest, two large Rubbermaid tubs of Christmas decorations, and a bag of doghouse cedar chips in the middle of. Wait a minute! Maybe I need to inspect that cedar chest. What if that Ragtag Gaggle of Roofermen decided to make their own chips? And that pile of rectangular garage gold was right in the space where my precious new Acadia belongs. Except Farmer H and The Pony have her out today. More on that another time, another place.

Good thing Farmer H is not present. He would be running his hands over his pale mistress like The Old Man in A Christmas Story running his hands over his Major Award, the leg lamp, that arrived in a straw-stuffed wooden box marked Frah Jee Lay.

I hesitated before posting a picture of Farmer H's hussy. I hope you had the good sense to shoo the children out of the room.