Farmer H has been so busy with organizing his (ahem) collections, and Goodwill/flea market/auction/antique store shopping, that he's only half-heartedly trying to kill me. Uh huh. He's slacked off on his spouse-i-cide attempts lately. Until today.
I asked him, around 4:15, if it was raining. Normally, Farmer H wouldn't be inside the Mansion at that time. But today, after a fruitful junk-shopping trip (the spoils of which will be revealed elsewhere), he came in to watch a NASCAR race, but got enthralled in the 40th anniversary broadcast of ROOTS. Anyhoo...he ate lunch and La-Z-Boyed most of the afternoon. He had the living room shades open, though. And when I asked about the weather, I heard him stump across the floor and open the front door to take a peek outside. Unless that was an elaborate ruse, and he didn't look out.
"No. It's clear."
"Okay. I'm coming up to walk in a few minutes."
Farmer H left to feed his animals. When I got outside, on the back porch, I heard rain. There's no mistaking the ping of raindrops on a metal roof. It wasn't raining hard. But it WAS raining. I went back in to change my sweatshirt for my quilted flannel CPO jacket. I knew I'd want to wear that sweatshirt downstairs later, and I wouldn't want it wet. The jacket I could take off and hang on the stair rail post to dry. Same with my sock cap. It wouldn't hurt being wet.
For an instant, while stretching at the steps by the garage, without benefit of my loyal fleabag audience, who had forsaken me for Farmer H (!)...I contemplated not walking. But I skipped yesterday due to the freezing wind, and didn't want to take a second day off. I thought about walking around the porch, which is all under roof. Gone are the days when that was my walk of choice. Farmer H has so many objects half-clogging the porch that I fear toppling off the edge on the two sides of the house without a rail. Besides, the cats get in the way, and if the dogs returned, they would be major moving obstacles.
I started across the Farmer-H-made brick sidewalk to get to the driveway. It was slippery as snot! Slippery as a granite floor after a snail convention! Slippery as an interstate highway after the jackknifing of a semi hauling eggs. That's okay, though. I wasn't having my 22-minute walk on the sidewalk. I took care not to crack my skull on those bricks on my way to gravel.
The walk wasn't bad. The wind was minimal compared to yesterday. I could hardly feel the rain, except a little on my face. The jacket and sock cap were a good barrier.
On my fifth of six trips up the driveway, I heard a door slam. A car start. Sweet Gummi Mary! I can't even have alone-time at the end of the driveway! Here came Farmer H in the Trailblazer. I stepped off the left side of the driveway to wait in the grass. Remembering a couple weeks ago, when Farmer H arrived home while I was walking, and I stepped off to walk in the grass. And got stuck almost up to my ankles in a mole tunnel. So I stood.
"I'm going to town to put gas in my car."
"You couldn't wait until I was done walking? You HAD to go this very instant?"
"I don't know why you're always complaining at me."
"You could have waited five minutes. Or driven off to the side."
"YOU stepped off first!"
"Because I didn't want you to run over me!"
"HM. I wasn't going to run over you."
"I don't know that! You HAD to go up the driveway RIGHT NOW while I'm walking in it."
"Oh, you're full of bull! Yes, I COULD have gone off the side. But you were already off."
Uh huh. That's what he SAYS. But he could have driven straight up through the yard and not been on the driveway at all. He drives through the yard all the livelong day. Except when I'm in the driveway.
Oh, yeah. And he said it wasn't raining when he looked out.