Dang! Even Steven had his way with Mrs. Hillbilly Mom this morning!
On the way up the driveway, I noticed that we'd had a visitor sometime in the night or early morning. I managed to get a picture of the evidence on the way home.
How do ya like THEM horse apples? Not much, if you're Mrs. HM. Because they are right where she places her dainty feet when she takes her driveway walk every afternoon. AND the dumpster needs to be brought back down to the garage today, so it will have to be rickshawed on the other side, which has a little depression down the middle.
The neighbors who possess the Killer Poodle and Crazy Rott have three horses, in a field just across the gravel road from the Mansion driveway. They can't projectile-poop that far, but they sometimes get out. This could be the explanation for the dogs going crazy last night. Or not.
Meanwhile, in town, The Devil's Playground was out of big sandwiches. It's been at least six months since I bought one. But last night, Farmer H said he wouldn't mind to have one, to use for some lunches on his four-day weekend. So...the only time I promise him something, The Devil is fresh out.
I was standing at the end of the tortilla table up by the bakery section, and a fellow old lady shopper pulled her cart right up in front of me so I couldn't get away without backing up and taking a detour around an abandoned cart on the other side of the display. Let the record show that she was NOT looking at the tortillas. And that when she stationed herself there, she met my eye, like a hoodlum in a souped-up jalopy revving his engine beside a muscle car at a stoplight.
The stockers were out in full force, their wheeled carts blocking three different aisles. I swear, no matter what day I choose to go shopping, they're re-stocking. Then there was the old man with his cart parked in the middle of the waffle aisle. So I had to squeeze by, compressing my quilted flannel CPO jacket that I had draped over the side of my cart, just so it didn't flap him in the butt as I walked by. And the lady on the bread aisle who parked her cart on one side, then stood on the other, effectively cutting off cart-walker traffic flow until she was good and ready to rejoin her buggy. I had planned to pick up some hot dogs for Farmer H to throw on Gassy G this weekend, but a lady with a baby in her basket, and a screaming boy toddler with his wrist in her death-grip, were working out their behavioral issues in front of that section. A little old lady buying sugar parked her cart to block the Splenda display. And a re-stocker clanging wine bottles as he removed them from the shelf nearly deafened me as I was picking up two four-packs of strawberry water for Farmer H in the beverage section.
At the checkout, my Devil's Handmaiden was oblivious to my need for a divider on the conveyor. So I had to let a reasonable gap develop before taking the imminent purchases out of my cart. THEN the lady behind me was a close-shopper, and blatantly ogled my PIN when I used my debit cart, after I practically needed to elbow her out of the way to get to the scanner.
On the way out the EXIT door, a scofflaw had the nerve to try and ENTER! There was a time when Mrs. Hillbilly Mom would have tried to maneuver her fully-loaded cart out of the way to make room. Today was not that time. I kept going straight out the middle of those double doors, so Scofflaw had to stop in her tracks. Karma, Scofflaw. Use the right friggin' door.
I spent the ensuing soda/lottery interlude danging ol' Even Steven. But once I settled down to sip my 44 oz Diet Coke and scratch my lottery tickets, I changed my tune. Because sweet ol' Even Steven gave me $65 in winnings today.
Life is a balancing act.