Tuesday, July 9, 2019

Laughter May Be The Best Medicine, But It's A Pretty Darn Good Wake-Up Call, Too

It's an ill-kept secret that Mrs. HM sleeps late. Goes to bed between 3:00 and 4:00 a.m., and rises around 9:30 or 10:00. The scammer calls last month, up to 36 per day, really cut into my beauty sleep. They started at the stroke of 9:00. Sometimes, I'd have 4 of them before 9:30. You can imagine my delight when they stopped, as if by magic, July 1.

Okay. There's definitely more to THAT story. But today, we're here to finish the final chapter of ANOTHER story.

I was happily snoozing Monday morning, in a rejuvenating, beautifying, sound slumber, having a pleasant dream that I cannot recall, which most likely involved me acquiring a large fortune. All at once, I was jolted from my ZZZZs by a loud pounding.


Sweet Gummi Mary! What in the Not-Heaven was THAT? I did not jump up and run to the front door. What a folly that would have been. Mrs. HM does not have an ON switch that readies her for immediate action. First, I have to stretch, lest I break a bone or dislocate a joint springing out of bed abruptly. I am nowhere near as spry as that Charlie Bucket's Grandpa Joe, and me only sleeping for 5.5 hours, with him having been bedridden for 20 years.

I listened. Another round of bamming. Like angry townspeople had double-hand-sawed down a might oak, and were using it as a battering ram to storm the Mansion. The dogs were going crazy, too! I figured I might as well get up, since the time was 9:24.

After a leisurely trip to the bathroom, a switch from pajama top to pocket shirt, and absolutely no effort to smooth the bedhead haystacks of my lovely lady mullet... I shuffled to the front door. Jack came running to greet me, standing on his hind legs, licking my hand. He's a licker, that one! Can always spare some canine saliva for Mrs. HM.

As I looked down at Jack, sweet-talking him, because who can resist such a sweet little long half-dachshund with his bandit heeler mask (not this old gal)... I saw a box at the doorjamb.

Well! Looks like the second stick-on blood sugar tester thingy, which the gal from India had OVERNIGHTED to Farmer H last WEDNESDAY, had finally showed up on MONDAY. Good thing he's not dead yet. As you may recall from previous updates, Farmer H had been waiting on one of these (and eventually two) gadgets for almost two weeks.

Heh, heh! Here's what makes me happiest. As I told Farmer H when he came home:

"I hope that FedEx guy was crapping his pants with the three dogs surrounding him and barking their fool heads off!"

Serve him right, for leaving the last package of stick-on blood sugar tester thingy at a house a half mile down the road.

Nothing good ever comes from FedEx around the Mansion, except for an evil laugh at their expense.


River said...

You never hear about these bad FedEx shenanigans in movies or books. it's all good news there, with things arriving in good condition, hand delivered by a gorgeous young hunk knocking on your door almost before the article is sent. Imagine that happening in real life. I can hear you laughing from clear across the ocean.

Hillbilly Mom said...

Ow. I think I pulled something. The thought of such a delivery is hilarious.

River said...

hah!:) :)