Wednesday, September 7, 2016

This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Knees

You know how Mr. Wilson always yelled, "DENNIS!" when something went wrong? I have spent most of my life doing the same thing. Oh, I don't know anybody named Dennis, except that security guard when I worked in the insurance salvage store, he with a fondness for stealthily following co-workers around, then grabbing them from behind by the forehead and chin and giving them a free, unrequested, thankfully unmaiming, amateur chiropractic neck crack.

No, I don't have a Dennis around here. But I have a Farmer H.

With only Farmer H and me around the Mansion these days, it's pretty obvious who the culprit is when things go awry. Just ask me! Oh, he still tries to deny his shenanigans. But he doesn't have a leg to stand on. And I don't have a chair to set on. My groceries, that is.

We have a mesh metal patio chair on our side porch. Most often, it rests in front of Gassy G, the auction grill. Since Farmer H only grills once in a blue moon these days, and since I no longer have The Pony to carry in my groceries every week, I moved that chair over by the rail for the porch steps. That way, I can put my grocery bags on there, and Jack and Juno don't walk all over them, or get tempted to nose around in there. Not that my Sweet, Sweet Juno would do such a thing. But Puppy Jack might. He's inquisitive.

By setting my grocery bags on that chair, I can go back to T-Hoe for more, and pile them on. Then I make one trip up the steps, go unlock the kitchen door, and come back a couple times for my purchases. WITHOUT going down and up the steps several times. Anybody with sore knees knows what a big deal this is. I'm looking at YOU, Madam. The newly-knee-challenged.

Today I came back from town, having traipsed around Country Mart looking for snacks for Farmer H's upcoming jaunt to Oklahoma for a Sooners' game to visit The Pony. I had two bags of snacks, and 16 Diet Mountain Dews. They were only the 12 oz bottles. Two 8-packs. HOS is going along with Farmer H, so he, too, must stay hydrated. Don't even ask them why they won't drink water. For snacks. they will have sugar-free mini Hersheys, sugar-free mini Reese's Cups, sugar-free York Peppermint Patties, Lance Peanut Butter Crackers, and Lance Buffalo Wing Blue Cheese Crackers. Hey! It's a 9.5 hour drive! Farmer H is not going into a coma on my watch. He can't be left to his own snack selections. Said the Snickers bar he ate out of a vending machine at a rest stop while I was in the bathroom.

I had the two bags hooked over my arm, and an 8-pack in each hand. BUT MY CHAIR WAS GONE! Okay. It wasn't GONE, gone. But it was way over by Gassy G. I couldn't reach it from down on the sidewalk. So I had to set down my sodas and go up the steps and into the Mansion to put them down. Then come back out to get my purse and 44 oz Diet Coke from T-Hoe. Then take them into the Mansion. Then come back to the porch for my sodas.

If my holding chair had been where I left it, I could have piled the stuff on it from the sidewalk, gone back to T-Hoe for my purse and soda, carried them up the steps and inside, then come back onto the porch for the snacks and soda. Easy peasy. Instead, I had an extra trip up and down.

The dogs didn't mind! They got a flat chew treat of some kind that I found in the laundry room before I left, and a handful of cat kibble when I came back out for the soda.

Upon interrogation later in the evening, Farmer H denied moving the chair since grilling on Sunday, even though I know I used it for holding my Save A Lot box of groceries on Monday.



Sioux said...

Yes, railings are my friend. Chairs to walk along and help support me are my friend. Tables I can hang onto are my friend.

This getting old stuff... it stinks.

fishducky said...

Maybe your house really is haunted!!

Hillbilly Mom said...

I especially appreciate grocery cart walkers. To the unsuspecting Hillmomban citizen, I look like a do-gooder, pushing a cart in from the parking lot. When actually, I am just trying to make it inside the store without collapsing.

That could explain the noises overhead at night! That's the side-porch end of the house. It's right on the other side of the upstairs exterior wall!

Kathy's Klothesline said...

Poor Farmer H ... with his sons gone, he has no one to blame! HeWho always said that our son Jeff lost his tools, messed up the garage, broke the mower. When Jeff's twin sister got married, Jeff welcomed Nick to the family in his speech and told Nick that he was so glad to have someone to share the blame when HeWho discovered something wrong.

Hillbilly Mom said...

Yeah, Farmer H needs to try a new act, or come up with a partner in crime.