Farmer H is morally, ethically, spiritually, physically, positively,
absolutely, undeniably and reliably, not only merely, but really most
sincerely... THE PONY'S SIRE.
Monday, I sat on the
short couch, keeping The Pony company while he scratched a (losing)
Crossword lottery ticket. The TV was on Man vs Food, and I was waiting to see who would win at the end. This time it was FOOD, with Man unable to consume a 5.5 pound taco.
Anyhoo... I glanced from the TV to see The Pony fiddling with something at his ear.
"WHAT are you doing?"
"Cleaning my ear."
"With WHAT?"
I couldn't tell, because I was looking at The Pony's profile, against the backdrop of the sunny front yard.
"This!"
The Pony held out a spirally length of white material. It made me think of an unraveled Q-Tip.
"What IS that?"
"The wrapper from my soda straw yesterday when you brought me lunch from Dairy Queen."
"Ooh! ICK! Stop that! I'm surprised you aren't flossing between your toes with it!"
"I can..."
The Pony made a move to do just that!
"NO!
Stop it! I'm going to be sick! Make sure you throw that away, and don't
leave it for ANOTHER day laying on that coffee table!"
"Here!"
The Pony folded it into a tiny ball, and made as if to throw it at me.
The Pony doesn't fall far from The Farmer...he of the clipped toenails left in the berry-scented candle on the mantel of the fake fireplace.
Who knows what unspeakable things he's doing with his feet in the triangle tub. Soaking them. Scrubbing the cuticles on those ten piggies. Sticking his feet out as he luxuriates, and clipping the nails so they land all willy-nilly on the bathroom floor. (Maybe helter-skelter is a more apt term, considering the horror it would cause you.) Digging the toe jam out oh so meticulously, and letting it float on the surface of the water... where it can drift to the side of the tub and adhere... and dry there.
ReplyDeleteOh, the unspeakable atrocities...
Sioux,
ReplyDeleteYet another collection of reasons why I don't partake of the big triangle tub. And another collection of images to lock away in the "PANDORA'S BOX" section of my brain.
Now I'm feeling sorry for the future Mrs The Pony.
ReplyDeleteIt's okay, Hillbilly Mom -- Pony is, I think, normal!
ReplyDeleteMy very own hick-hubby,(No, you are not the only one who has a hick or two around!), cleans out his ears with his nail clippers. Also, ever the thinker and multi-tasker, he uses them to cut the extra long ends off his banjo strings after he strings the banjo up.
"There are about a thousand Q-Tips in the cabinet," I offer.
"You know da*n well they just push wax in further!" He says, shoving the file part of the clippers further in his ear. " Besides, I've done this forever and never hurt myself."
Why would he use the special tool I got him for cutting strings when the ever handy nail clippers are in his pocket just waiting to be dulled by metal banjo strings! He can clean his ears and clip his nails and strings with those babies! He cannot, and may not use my Tweezerman clippers, though. I don't need jagged edges on my nails.
No, we don't live in Appalachia, nor do we reside in Nashville. There are hicks all over Virginia who play bluegrass, it seems. I don't mean to imply all banjo players are hicks, but mine happens to be, and he is also a former farmer. (That's not right. Farm boys are never former farmers, but forever farmers. Like the Marines ---that title stays forever.)
=
I suppose he didn't have the cover of a ball point pen handy? I am having to clean Eddie's ears every other day due to a yeast infection. I will refrain from a description of the contents.
ReplyDeleteRiver,
ReplyDeleteShe will blame ME for raising him that way!
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Bluebird,
I hope he doesn't use the file with that little hooked part on the end!
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Kathy,
I'm glad he did NOT have the cover of a ballpoint pen handy! That's what I use in my lair!