Monday, November 7, 2016

Bless Her Little Scratch-Off-Slingin' Heart

Today's errands included a trip to the bank, which was filled with clucker-fustery, the weekly Devil's Playground mission, and one stop for water and one stop for a 44 oz Diet Coke.

The bank story must wait for another day, as will The Devil. Perhaps they can become a two-fer. Today, we are complaining about the milk of human kindness. And by we, I mean me, myself, I, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, and her close personal friend, Val T.

I had every intention of making a cup of ice water before leaving The Mansion bright and early at 9:00 a.m. (because my body still thinks it's 10:00), because dealing with The Devil gives Mrs. HM a powerful thirst. Makes her want ice water, in fact. But I forgot.

I headed first to the dead-mouse-smelling post office, to mail the weekly letters for the #1 son and The Pony. I was dismayed to hear those two envelopes clank onto the bottom of the drive-thru mailbox. It was only 9:15, by cracky, and the mail goes out at 11:00, and that box should have been stuffed with weekend mail. So I think they're up to no good again at that stinky rodent facility.

This morning I varied my route, and went to the bank first. I knew I would have cotton mouth by the time I was halfway through The Devil's Playground. So on the way there from the bank, I stopped by a Casey's to get a bottle of water. Okay. The main reason for the stop was some scratch-off tickets. I figured I could pick up a bottle of water there, too. Besides, I was running low on change. I figured I could break a twenty, and have some ones and coinage for my daily 44 oz Diet Coke exact change.

The Casey's clerk was very nice. She's the one who tipped me off to a cheaper, paper funnel when I bought a quart of oil there during T-Hoe's unfortunate near-incapacitation. The total ended in "...and five cents." Perfect! A whole passel o' change for my coin cup! Couldn't be better! Clerky handed back my ones, and said sweetly, "I took care of the cents for you, sweetie."

DANG! She kept my magnificent would-be haul of 95 cents, to give me a dollar instead. I couldn't complain to her. She was so nice. So I went without the change.

Even Steven observes all, though. And when I was in The Devil's Playground, with my nose pressed against the hot deli case, persuaded me to forego the chicken wings in favor of an 8-piece packaged fried chicken deal.

I'd like to know where The Devil gets his chickens. When I got home, I found that my 8 pieces were 3 legs, 1 thigh, and 4 breasts.


Sioux said...

HM--Except for the 1 thigh and the three legs, the rest of it/the best of it/the breast of it sounds like what a man would call an ideal woman...

fishducky said...

That's the way the Devil's chickens grow!!

Hillbilly Mom said...

Yeah. So what if she couldn't walk very well? I don't think a man would care, not planning on her spending much time walking and all...

I wonder if they want ice water?