Monday, January 18, 2016

The Man Who Typed Wolf

Farmer H nearly scared me out of my skin this afternoon. That man needs to think before he texts.

There I was, sitting at my New Delly in my dark basement lair, when my cell phone buzzed. That means a text. So I turn it on, and see "Dad" because the #1 son set up my phone, and of course not my husband's name comes up for his number, but only "Dad." And there on the main screen, at the bottom, right below "Dad" was the tail-end of the text. So all I could read was


Oh, dear. That set my heart to thumping. NO! What had happened? Was it one of Farmer H's workmates? Somebody from our enclave? A relative on Farmer H's side of the family? What terrible fate could have befallen them? The cold? Did somebody get locked out in this single-digit weather? Has somebody been ill? What could have happened? It had to be someone connected to Farmer H, or I would have been notified as well.

With shaking hands, I opened up the message:

"I need u to teach me how to convert a decimal to a fraction tonight I have no idea brain dead I guess"

Well. Thank the Gummi Mary! It was only Farmer H who was brain dead.

Not that I could tell a difference.


Sioux said...

Aren't ALL men brain dead?

Except for Viggo Mortensen, of course.

Kathy's Klothesline said...

We really must get the long lost brothers together

Hillbilly Mom said...

I don't know. ALL men don't ask me to teach them fractions. Viggo must be a math whiz...

As long as we schedule that meeting for a whole hour, not 1/2 hour, or 3/4 hour...