You Know Mrs. HM Is Sick When She Doesn't Drive To Town For Her 44 Oz Diet Coke And Scratchers

Yeah. I'm sick. With a stuffy head that makes me (even more) unstable, and watering eyes that wanted no part of driving through the bright sun reflecting off what was left of the snowy landscape... I told Farmer H that I had no intention of getting in T-Hoe. Not even for my magical elixir and lottery.

Do you know what he said?

"Do you want me to go get you a soda?"

YES!!! That was quite a change from a day or two ago, when I was complaining whining just telling him about how bad I felt, and he said, "HM. You just have a cold."

So, while I was frying hamburger to throw in spaghetti sauce with some mushrooms, and boiling rigatoni, and heating some garlic bread in the oven, all for HIS lunch...Farmer H drove off to town for my 44 oz Diet Coke. AND some scratchers, which I gave him the money for, a winner to cash in, and some losers to show what the tickets looked like that I wanted. PLUS a list of those very tickets. You can't hit Farmer H over the head hard enough with instructions.

He was back before his lunch was done. I spent 40 minutes on it. Plus another 20 cleaning up.

Oh, the scratchers he got for me? Every one a loser.

But I knew that before I even scratched them. I don't know what I was thinking, letting Farmer H touch my tickets. He's like a medicine that they prescribe for alcoholics to keep them from drinking. Only he comes without a prescription, and works for gamblers.