Tuesday, July 3, 2018

In A Mood

Let the record show that Mrs. HM is in a mood today. Not to be confused with In THE Mood, the classic Glenn Miller tune. Nope. Much less pleasant. Not pleasant at all. In fact, I used to warn the boys when they were young 'uns. "Don't even think about it right now. I am IN A MOOD! Just leave me alone." And when they were smart, they did. Which helped that mood to pass.

Here's the deal. On July 1st, our insurance coverage changed, because Newmentia, where I pay for my health insurance now, switched providers. For the first time in forever, I actually had the new insurance cards a week before coverage changed. I made sure to send one to The Pony, so he would have it in time. Or so I thought.

I mailed that card at the main post office, on Monday, June 25th, before the mail went out. I had mailed The Pony's regular letter on Friday, June 22nd, as usual, since I didn't get those insurance cards until Saturday. Normally, The Pony gets his letter by Thursday, sometimes Wednesday. So I was hoping he'd have the new insurance card by at least Saturday, June 30th. (There. Are you confused yet? If not, I'm not doing my unpaid job.)

Nope. He still doesn't have it. Nor does he have the letter preceding it. So that's 11 days, and his mail hasn't arrived. Seven business days. I could have chopped down a tree, wood-burned that letter onto a rough-hewn plank, and hand-delivered it, riding to Oklahoma on a stubborn mule, in that time. How hard is it to toss a bag of mail on a truck, and drive across the very flat state of Oklahoma on a turnpike?

AND ANOTHER THING, as long as I'm IN A MOOD...

Don't invite yourself to a barbecue. It's not polite. It's especially wrong if you invite yourself to my Mansion for the 4th of July, and I'm IN A MOOD.

You see, an invitation is something other people extend to YOU. Not that you suggest to THEM. So even if you think you're doing me a favor by offering to come out and barbecue and swim in Poolio...there's really not that much in it for me. Even assuming that you buy the meat you intend to barbecue. Because there are still side dishes to be made or shopped-for, and plates and plasticware (don't even get me started on my special fork!) to be obtained, and surely a dessert is expected.

Then there's the business of Poolio, who is not in tip-top shape, due to Farmer H neglecting him, and mossy spots on his bottom. Besides, I don't swim in Poolio, nor wear shorts, and the temperature has been in the mid-90s, with the heat index around 107. So why would I want to sit outside in pants, sweating, watching other people swim, just to be sociable? Oh, yeah. Because if I don't, I'll be considered UNsociable.

Of course you'd be joining me inside the Mansion to eat the food you barbecued. Because we don't have a picnic table any more, our cute little hexagonal one loaned out and carried dangling from a tractor boom pole to its destination and back. Then rotted, due to neglect over in the pre-goat-pen area. And nobody wants to sit in a lawn chair and balance beverages and plates while trying to eat.

So the thing is...if you invite yourself, and your four and sometimes five family members, and most likely a couple of teenage friends as well...I'm only one person, who will have to check all the boxes that you have not, for what makes a good 4th of July barbecue. Which I'm sure would also include an expected fireworks show after 9:00 p.m. when it's dark. On my dollar.

Yeah, I'm definitely IN A MOOD. If I was a convenience store clerk, I would be referred to as That Hateful Old Lady Clerk. But at least I'd be clerking, and not making myself miserable hosting an unplanned barbecue, or declining your own invitation to one at my Mansion, making me just a Hateful Old Lady.

There. I'm feeling better already. That mood is lifting. The Pony can print out a temporary copy of the insurance card if I give him my online password. And my Sweet Baboo has put the kibosh on the barbecue, since we had already planned on him grilling, just for us, not throwing a party.

That's why we didn't invite anyone.


Sioux Roslawski said...

We weren't invited to our annual holiday potluck, which is fine, because I'm looking forward to a quiet day tomorrow... and watching some fireworks extravaganza while lounging on my couch--with the AC steadily blowing.

Farmer H deserves some extra potato salad or something, after putting the kibosh on the BBQ. (Sometimes they succumb, and then the wife has to work her a$$ off to make it a magical evening.)

River said...

I'm glad Farmer H put the kibosh on that barbecue. The only way inviting yourself to someone else's place to barbecue is acceptable is if that self invitee does all the work including dessert and fireworks.
Why don't you wear shorts? Is it a comfort thing? Or not-pretty-no-more legs?
I didn't wear shorts for decades because of my varicose veins, but now I do especially in that kind of hot weather and I no longer care if people stare. I'm comfortable and that's what counts.

Hillbilly Mom said...

You're probably still recovering from heat stroke with no power. Farmer H DID use exceptionally good judgment in declining that self-invitation. I'm shocked. He might have a touch of heat stroke himself.

He switched it up to taking the self-inviter to watch fireworks somewhere locally. That's fine with me. I don't want to get out in the heat.

Yeah. And cleans up my house for the people who will be traipsing through for the bathroom, and to cool off, and eat inside.

I will not expose the general public to my legs, nor my legs to the general public. They're portly and veiny, with knee-surgery scars. better covered up. And Jack's toenails can't scratch them, only leave dusty paw prints on my pants.

fishducky said...

I didn't show up. You're welcome!!

Hillbilly Mom said...

THANK YOU, belatedly. For not only not showing up, but also for not inviting yourself.