You'd Think Some Of That Energy Could Be Directed At Operating A Single Drive-Thru Lane

It is now six months since my bank had drive-thru service. Is that any way to run a money business? I think not. I would have changed banks by now, if it wasn't so much hassle to get new checks, debit cards, and set up new payment options in case I have to pay a bill online. They keep saying they can't hire enough people to cover both the counter and the drive-thru. It's quite an inconvenience for crippledy people like Mrs. HM!

Monday I went to the bank to deposit a check from The Pony for his half of the flip house expenses, and to withdraw cash to repay Farmer H for money he'd spent on such flip house accoutrements out of his own pocket. I was lucky to get the handicap space way down at the end of the building. And only one truck was in the parking lot. As I hobbled the distance of the building, another truck parked, a man got out, greeted the first truck driver, who was exiting, and went in ahead of me. Believe it or not, that second truck driver was already leaving, and held the door open for me as I entered. Mrs. HM is not a fast walker.

Two tellers were at their slots in the counter. Two other slots were empty. A lady sat at a desk to the right. I suppose she was the loan department. Another lady was walking around in the back. So that's four gals working. None at the drive-thru.

Left Lady said she could help me, even though she was spraying her slot like an exterminator. The Other Gal was just sitting at her slot terminal. Left Lady finished wiping that spray liquid all over her slot, then squirted a giant bottle of sanitizer on her hands. I was reluctant to set my check, deposit slip, and withdrawal slip down until that liquid evaporated. When I finally did, leaning on the front part of the counter to ease the burden on my cranky knees, Left Lady said:

"Whew! There was a guy just in here who coughed all over everything! I couldn't get out my sanitizer soon enough!"

"Oh. Great. I just leaned my hands on the counter!"

"I sprayed it!"

Well. She sprayed everything within the stream of that can of sanitizer. I don't think it could turn corners once it left the front of her slot. Anyhoo... I made note not to touch my face while out and about, until a good surgeon-hand-scrubbing when I got home.

Background Gal came out to Other Gal's area, and asked for some hundreds. Six.

"I need them because it's time to pay my mom rent. Isn't that sad? I live in my mom's house. At least I'm not in the basement in my underwear, eating Cheetos."

There was a bit of a kerfuffle when Other Gal couldn't find Background Gal's account. Then she started counting out the money. Heh, heh. I told them I WISH my kid lived in my basement. (Again.)

You'd think one of those four workers could have operated a drive-thru lane. They would only be steps away from the counter. It's a big long window, with computer terminals back there, and their own money drawers. Really. Seems like four workers is enough, to provide that service. They could still have their jokes and interactions with each other. 

AND there would be no germs all over their work area!

The Continuing Saga Of Trying To "Put Pupsie To Sleep"

The appointment for Pupsie's very special operation looms next week. I'm sure you will be shocked to learn that Farmer H has not been following the protocol I devised for trying to tame Pupsie. He might have spent five evenings over the past month, consciously encouraging Pupsie to take a treat, and allow petting. He has not moved the pet carrier to the location it will be needed. So Pupsie will no doubt be suspicious when it appears.

You may recall that Farmer H gave Pupsie some Benadryl. More than you'd think she would need by her supposed weight. Then a few days later, he gave Pupsie TWICE that amount of Benadryl. Pupsie looked a little out of it, but did not sleep. Did not calm down to be petted. Just walked around, glassy-eyed.

A few days ago, WITHOUT TELLING ME, Farmer H gave Pupsie a "sleep aid."

"The pharmacist give it to me."

"Wait! Are you taking a sleep aid?"

"No. It's for Pupsie. He said it should work. But I couldn't see no difference. I plan to stop by the vet office and ask again for something to give her. Or we'll have to cancel the appointment."

Monday afternoon, Farmer H sent me a text:

"The vet said to give Pupsie 90 mg of melatonin. I'll have to get some, and see what it does. The vet said to give it a couple hours before I need her to be loaded up."

"So you'll practice giving it to her, and sit around watching to see if she falls asleep somewhere?"

"Yeah. The vet said maybe pet her, and she'll wake up with me petting her, and see that it's all right."

"Did you tell them she might bite? Like when you 'pulled her tail' while petting her the other night, and she snapped at you?"

"Yeah. They said if I can get her there in a crate, they can give her something so she's calm."

We'll see how it goes. Pupsie REALLY needs her very special operation.

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom To The Rescue

After hearing of The Pony's queasiness on Saturday, I knew there was something I could do. Of course The Pony is an adult, and knows fully well how to take care of nausea and vomit, and how to use a phone to order supplies that might be needed. Still. The Pony has a mother! Within driving distance! No way could I let my little Pony suffer.

"Have you been taking your vitamin every day? Oh, wait! I remember you saying you were about out. And I forgot to give you another bottle when you were here for Easter."

"Yeah. I was out. I forgot to tell you."

"I'll bring you a bottle. Just in case it's some kind of virus coming on."

"Do YOU take two a day, like it says? Or just the one."

"It's summer now, so I just take one. I only take two (one morning and one night) if it feels like I'm getting a cold. That way it helps you fight off the virus right at the beginning. Like taking plain zinc, or vitamin C."

"Okay. I've been trying to think if I want to eat. Not yet."

"Stay hydrated. You can take a spoonful of water every five minutes or so. That's what I did when you were little. So it's not sloshing around, but you're getting water."

"Yeah. The last time I threw up, it was mostly water. I guess I drank too much at once. But I have that acid burn at the back of my throat. I know you don't want to hear this, but chunks came out my NOSE, too!!!"

"You're right. I didn't want to heat that!"

"I might have some oyster crackers left here somewhere. I could eat them."

"Or toast might be good."

"I don't have any bread. Or a toaster."

"I make toast in the oven."

"I had thought about maybe some crispy garlic toast. I make that in the oven."

I had planned to drop off the vitamins on Sunday, but figured I might as well do it Saturday when I went to town. Even if The Pony didn't feel like taking one that night, they would be there. It's a strawberry-flavored gummi square, not a giant horsepill vitamin. 

The thought crossed my mind about stopping by the store, but it was already 4:00 when I left home for the 30 minute drive. Besides, my knees were acting up more than usual, with the cloudy, sprinkly weather. So I grabbed what I had on hand that might be soothing to a poor Pony stomach. When I got there, The Pony came out to grab the vitamins, which I had put into a bag with the other stuff.

"Here's a care package for you. Also known as Random Expired Food From Mom's Pantry. There are four mini packs of Ritz Crackers. A third of a loaf of Hawaiian Bread. And about half a bag of Garlic Cheese Croutons. I figure you can snack on them for the dry crunch. The bread might not be good for garlic butter, but maybe you could make cinnamon toast. Or sugar toast."

The Pony rummaged through the bag with glee. It takes so little to please The Pony!

"Hmm. I think the sweetness of the Hawaiian Bread might be good with the garlic! Thanks. I love you, Mom! So much!"

"I love you too, my little Pony! Hope you feel better!"

As I type this, it's Sunday afternoon. I have not spoken yet today with The Pony. I figure recovery time and sleep is more important that a chat with me. I'm hoping The Pony is on the mend.

The Pony Was Under The Weather

It didn't rain at the Mansion on Friday. Sunny all day, until I started to town at 4:00. Dark clouds. The casher in 10Box said it had rained off and on all day. There were puddles in the parking lot. POOR PONY! The Pony got rained-on, and I DIDN'T EVEN WORRY! You know that would have made a difference, right? The protection of a mother's worry.

Anyhoo... when I called on Saturday morning, The Pony didn't sound perky. 

"I haven't had much sleep. I threw up at 3:00, and again at 4:00. I couldn't get back to sleep. I even went to my second bedroom, to try and sleep in that dead lady's bed, for a change of scenery."

"WHAT? I didn't know you had a bed in there."

"Yeah. The one Dad took out of the QuickFlip house. He was sure to tell me that it belonged to that dead old lady, but that she didn't die in it. I didn't have to know all that!"

Anyhoo... The Pony doesn't know what brought on the sickness. It doesn't seem to be from the rain, so soon. Doesn't seem to be a cold. Yet. And lest you point the accusatory finger at MY Easter Dinner leftovers, The Pony said they had been consumed or frozen by midweek. 

The Pony did not feel well enough to go to work, after giving it another 90 minutes to see if his symptoms improved. The only good thing was that this sudden food exit was only from one end. So far. 

Oh, well. That's what sick days are for. Can't be puking your guts out while walking 11 miles taking mail from house to house. That tends to slow you down.

A Slow Day At 10B0x

I stopped by 10Box on Friday afternoon, for bananas, baggies, and lemons. The store was not busy. It's the end of the month. I got the handicap parking space next to the door.

My items were all straight ahead from the entrance. Easy peasy. Only two checkouts were open. I went to the closest one, with the lady who suspected me of winning the big jackpot on a scratcher a few months ago. The young man assigned to the other open register was standing there chatting with her.

"No, really. Like Guy. Hunter has one, I think."

Young Man went back to his checkout when I pulled in my cart. My Cashier asked how I was doing. I said I was trying to get out ahead of the weather. The clouds were black. She said it had rained on and off all day. Huh. Not at the Mansion. I shared that I had been caught by surprise with the rain the previous day.

"I know! I was outside grilling hamburgers! I wondered if maybe I should just finish them inside. There was no rain in the forecast!"

I told her of getting soaked while trying to get gas. Then she motioned her head to the entrance.

"That's what we were talking about. That man on the scooter. Is that his real hair? Or fake?"

I took a look. It was a 60-something man on a beeper cart, parking it back in the vestibule between the glass doors. He was wearing a visor. His hair was spiky, and yellow-orange.

"I'd say that's fake hair. I know you could get that color, but the texture looks like it's fake. They make those visors with fake hair. I've seen them on TV. Like boaters on like Louisiana Law. People out on the lake, with visors with fake hair."

Young Man came over and agreed. My Cashier had no idea such a product was made and sold. Now she knows. It pays to watch TV, I guess. I'm pretty sure Young Man had been telling her about Guy's Grocery Games. Guy's son Hunter is on it sometimes, and I can imagine him wearing a visor with fake Guy Fieri hair.

The Universe Conspires Some More

Hard to believe that we could put men on the moon 45 years ago, and the President could talk to them on a landline... but we can't predict the weather a day out, with our current technology.

I started to town on Thursday for my errand day. It was nice and sunny when I got in the shower. Temps in the upper 70s. But when I rolled up the driveway in T-Hoe, I saw black clouds. Huh. That was NOT in the forecast! 

By the time I got to Sis-Town, rain was sluicing down. You may recall that T-Hoe's windshield wipers have two speeds. Or perhaps I should say TOO speeds. Too slow, and too fast. I drove to the Sis-Town Casey's for T-Hoe's weekly gas. The rain was a deluge. So I passed on by, and headed out to my bank. You know, the bank without anybody to operate the drive-thru lanes.

The sun even shines on Mrs. HM's rumpus some days. The rain slowed to a mere sprinkle. The sky was light. Of course somebody was parked in the handicap space. No placard, no plate giving them that legal privilege. I parked on the far side of them, and hobbled inside. Huh. It was an old lady. She seemed spry enough not to need that handicap space. It's not like it put her closer to the door for the rain. That handicap space is at the end of the building. The only benefit is a ramp instead of a step up to the sidewalk to get inside.

Anyhoo... I did my banking business, then headed back to Casey's for gas. I was behind that wave of rain. Only one person ahead of me inside. Yet when I started out, the deluge had returned. I got soaked! It's not like I could wait under the Casey's roof to see if the rain slackened. There are only a couple minutes before the pumps won't recognize that you just paid inside. Then you have to go back in and have the clerk reset it. So slowly I hobbled, drenched to the skin, to get under the roof of at the pumps. While pumping, I heard my phone. A text from The Pony:

"Stopped to take a lunch, because WOW 'sudden very heavy rain' was not forecast on my weather app this morning..."

"Yeah. I'm soaked, getting gas."

At Country Mart, I waited for the rain to lessen. Lucky for me there was a cart/walker to push while hobbling from the handicap space to the front door. Too bad the porch area was taken up by pallets of potting soil, and racks of plants. No roof over Mrs. HM as she had to ambulate on the slanted blacktop of the roadway, to bypass those privileged products under roof. Inside, my hands were so wet that the lottery machine did not want to recognize that I was a human on its touch screen. And I had to dry my debit card on my pants when checking out, because it had gotten soaked in my shirt pocket.

April showers are not Mrs. HM's friend.

Jack Rumpus

I was petting Jack a few days ago, upon return from my town trip. We were at the side porch. Pupsie was being aloof, as usual, after trying to go past me into the garage people door. I think she still remembers how Scarlett disappeared there. 

Anyhoo... Jack had backed up between the metal chair where I set grocery bags, and the rail for the steps. In his wriggling with pleasure, he bumped his every-expanding rumpus into a ceramic/resin dog statue that Farmer H likes to collect and display around the porch/grounds. I think this one is an Irish Setter, sitting. The fake dog toppled over. Jack was startled, and skittered towards me. No harm done. 

Jack is supplementing his dog food and daily treat diet with BABY MOLES! I have seen Jack and Pupsie numerous times in the front yard/field, digging and sticking their snoots into the soil. In fact, Pupsie always has dried dirt around her muzzle. I'm not complaining. We don't want a mole infestation like our neighbor down the gravel road. Better to have a few holes dug by our doggies than a series of collapsing tunnels used by moles. Fewer moles means fewer tunnels.

Anyhoo... the next day I saw that Farmer H had righted the fake dog. I can't wait to hear him blame Pupsie! I do not plan to squeal on Jack.

Deaf, Inattentive, Dementia

Perhaps you've heard of the hip happenin' parlour game of the 2000s: F/Marry/Kill. If not, you're not missing anything. I have created my own version, pertaining to Farmer H: Deaf/Inattentive/Dementia. It's the easiest way to explain his reactions.

Saturday evening, I told Farmer H that he must slice the FREE ham he'd won at bingo. I put a lot of time into the side dishes for Easter Dinner, and the least he could do is cut up that FREE ham. I put out everything Farmer H needed for the task. A big platter, the ham, the butcher knife, and a large container to put the slices in. Then all I had to do about that ham was to take out slices to warm on.

I made sure Farmer H washed his hands. And told him how to slice.

"It's already a spiral ham. So just set it on its end, and cut down. Then we'll have a bunch of slices for ham steaks, and sandwiches. Around the bone, I'll use chunks to cook some beans. And the bone. Here. I'm giving you this large ziploc bag for the bone. See? It's right here next to the paper towels."

Farmer H nodded that he saw the large bag, and knew what was expected. I moved on to getting other stuff ready for the next day. 

Farmer H was quite congenial, sitting on a stool at the cutting block, carving a large hunk of meat. He was in his element. As I expected, Farmer H would put two slices of ham into the container, then eat a piece for his trouble. Not a big deal. We had plenty of ham. Farmer H also volunteered to cut up the bone-area chunks into smaller pieces, so they'd be ready to go into a pot of beans later.

When he was finished, Farmer H picked up the platter to take out on the porch for the dogs. The sinewy sections that he had put aside.

"I'm giving Jack the bone. I'm sure Pupsie will take it away, but maybe he can run off with it."

I only had half an ear on Farmer H's voice. But then I looked up from the sink as he was walking to the kitchen door.

"Wait a minute! Why do you have that bone? That's for the pot of beans later!"

"Oh. Well. I was just going to give it to Jack."

"What do you mean? We already had this conversation! I put out that big bag for the bone. I told you I'd find room in the freezer for it! It's for beans, not for the dogs! Don't you remember saying you saw the bag I put there for it?"

"Oh. Yeah. I forgot."

Don't worry about the dogs. They had plenty of snacks from that ham. Neither of them needed that delicious ham bone with bits of meat and fat.

Here's the thing. Did Farmer H just not hear me? He seemed to understand. He looked at the big baggie I put on the cutting block, and nodded. Was he just pretending, because he didn't hear me, and didn't want to ask me to repeat it? Or had he forgotten the purpose of that bone, in the 15 minutes since I informed him?

I'm thinking the problem is inattention. Farmer H tunes me out. He asks about other things when he doesn't hear me. And he can remember quite boring details of his SUS2.5 transactions to tell me about when he gets home. 

I think this was a case of Farmer H not really caring what I was saying when he was slicing that FREE ham. Thank the Gummi Mary, I was able to rescue that bone!

Mrs. HM Continues To Ride The Lucky Train

Friday was also a good day for Mrs. HM's scratcher addiction. Fave sold me a $3 ticket that won $25. And on Saturday, though not from Fave, I had another good winner.

I uncovered a WIN ALL! Or as Farmer H has said, when he uncovered one a couple Christmases ago: "It's a winnell!" Mine was on the very last number, on a $10 ticket I got out of the right side machine at 10Box.

All the prizes were $5, so that added up to a $100 WINNER! That's three days in a row with good wins. Not sure how long before The Universe throws me off this gravy train.

Got Nothin'

It's 12:39 a.m. as I type this. Sunday was busy with Easter dinner prep, then a brief respite for eating, then the cleanup! I'm tired and don't feel very entertaining, heh, heh. So we shall convene again tomorrow.

Thanks, Fave!

We might have gone through a dry spell, but Fave, my favorite cashier at the Gas Station Chicken Store, has re-charged her luck. On Thursday, she sold me a good winner. Sure, I'm the one who selected it, and she doesn't know which tickets are winners. But still... she's my favorite person to buy tickets from, because I feel lucky there.

That's a $177 winner on a $10 ticket. It's the ten I like best right now, because I usually win SOMETHING on it. 

Most often $17, but it also gives me winners of $27 and $77. In fact, when I uncovered that number 1, I figured it would just be a regular $10 winner. But then there was the 777, which made me happy, because I thought it would be a $77 winner. That's usually a prize of $20, multiplied by three, and then a regular number that has a $17 prize under it. I was shocked to see the $50 prize to multiply by three. I always uncover the prize for the 7s first.

Anyhoo... the next day, I didn't want to chance a $10 ticket again. I figured lightning wouldn't be striking there again for a while. So I took a chance on a $30 ticket. I don't think I've had one of them since before Christmas. I don't get them often. Anyhoo... it won $60. So doubled my money.

Thank's Fave! I think I'll try either a $20 ticket, or a couple of $5s that aren't crosswords. Let's see if we can keep this streak going!

Is This A Sign From The Universe To Prepare My Proposed Handbasket Factory For Production?

Have I mentioned that I do not miss my landline? No more constant ringing. No more messages to review. No more scammers telling me that I'm about to be arrested for a past traffic violation in a town where I didn't go. Or that I have an order for many hundred dollars, and I should call if I want to cancel it. Or that my Windows computer has issues, and I should give permission for remote access so a company can fix it for me.

Oh, I still have scammers attempt those tactics with my cell phone. But it is right there by my side, and I can see the incoming phone number, and usually it says, "Scam Likely."

I got a call on Thursday morning, but I recognized the number. It was from the local hospital/clinic. You don't forget that number, after raising two kids into adulthood.

"Hello. Mrs. HM? This is your Nurse Practitioner's office. I see that you have your annual wellness visit coming up in December..."

"Uh. Yes."

"Would you like to schedule that now?"

"Well, I will forget it by the time December comes around. So no."

"Oh, you will get reminders."

"I always write it down, but then I forget where I put it. That's a long way off."

"Just so you know, your NP is currently booked up until August. He's pretty popular."

"Well. I can understand that. He is thorough, and makes people feel comfortable. I guess we might as well get it over with, and schedule it now."

This is how Mrs. HM scheduled an appointment for mid-December. Farmer H will not like that it's on a Friday, and will cause him to miss a morning at his Storage Unit Store to drop me off and pick me up at the door of the clinic. Of course, December is not really a booming month for the flea market business. Then again, I might not even be alive by then...

Butters Gonna Butt

I was standing at the counter of the Backroads Casey's on Wednesday. Two people were in line behind me. A Young Dude came in the door and stood right behind me.

"I just want to know if I can put a sign on your property. Out in the grass by the road."

"I don't know. I don't really have that kind of authority. You might ask That Guy in the kitchen. He has more seniority than me."

Off Young Dude went, to ask permission of That Guy, who sometimes works the register, and is very nice to me, calling me Sweetie.

Here's the thing. I was in the middle of my transaction. Girl Clerk had already scanned my winners. She was getting my tickets out of the case. Young Dude ASSumed he was so important that he could interrupt. Because, you know, his business is something much more entitled than a regular customer already in the middle of a transaction.

WAIT YOUR TURN, SON!

Anybody with manners would have gotten in line, then asked that Girl Clerk about his request when he got to the front of the line. People paying money should not be "lesser-than" a dude wanting to advertise his business. What's in it for Casey's???

I don't blame Girl Clerk. She's always nice. She was trying to move the line. She didn't want to stick her neck out and give Young Dude permission to put a sign out front. I think he was kind of pushy. She didn't want to incur any ill will by telling him to wait his turn. I wish I and the other customers in line had the gumption to tell Young Dude to get in line. But no. We're relatively polite around Backroads.

As Young Dude was going out the door with That Guy, no doubt delaying the pizza orders of other paying customers, I asked what that business was. Girl Clerk pointed to a couple of business cards lying on the counter. Heh, heh. I don't remember the exact name, but the business was something like Reliable Faith Services. I'm presuming it was some kind of yard care business.

Line-butting is not a good look for a company with that name...

Hot Dog, Dog House, Dog Poop

It took Pupsie about 24 hours to recover from her dosing with Benadryl at the hands of Farmer H. The back of the pill box said each tablet was 50 mg. I'm not sure how much svelte Pupsie weighs. I'm guessing between 25 and 30 pounds.

When I got home from town, I told Farmer H how she hadn't barked all day, or chewed on stuff, or wrestled with Jack. He had been home a couple hours, working in the yard.

"She let me pet her."

"Wait. Actually PET her? Like on the head?"

"No. She only let me touch her lips. But when I sat down on the porch to feed them some hot dogs, she let me touch her back. Then she realized it, and ran off."

"See? That's what she does. But since the Benadryl, she wouldn't let me even touch her mouth. Her eyes look like she's not all there."

"So it worked!"

"You're didn't give her any more did you???"

"No. Not yet..."

"Don't be doing that! Not every day."

"Them people at the lockers said they give their dogs one in the morning, and one in the evening. But they're little dogs."

Huh. Those locker people probably use normal Benadryl, not extra-strength!

I went in the Mansion, and saw that Farmer H had put the baggie of hot dogs on the bottom shelf, in the only clear space in FRIG II, that I was saving to put Easter dinner groceries that I've been buying. NOT back on the unopened package of hot dogs on the second shelf, where I've kept them since cutting them up. This is the SECOND TIME Farmer H has done this in two days! That's like submitting an application to live in the dog house! Of course it required a lecture when he came in. He said he just doesn't notice where he gets them...

Also, Farmer H was excited that he found his lawnmower key for the second time. You may recall that he accused Pupsie of stealing and eating it. Then he found it a couple weeks later on the brick sidewalk.

"This time it was on the front porch steps."

"WHY do you keep leaving it in the lawnmower if you know Pupsie takes it? A normal person wouldn't do that."

"It's easier to leave it in the lawnmower. It disappears, and I have to use the Gator key until I find it. I guess she poops it out."

"REALLY? On the front porch steps? You think Pupsie squats on the porch steps to poop? That she poops out a key, but there's no poop on the steps, and no poop on the key?"

"Well. I figure that's what she does. SEE?"

"Get that away from me! It's just a chewed-up key. She doesn't keep digesting it!"

He's a strange one, Farmer H.

Dang It, Farmer H!

After dosing Pupsie with Benadryl without telling me on Monday afternoon, Farmer H checked on her every hour or so before he went to bed. He said she was fine, lying out by the front porch in the yucca plant that she and Jack had flattened.

"She's fine. She lifts her head to look at me when I open the door."

"She doesn't run up there? I HOPE she's okay."

"She is. She's just sleepy."

I sit on the short couch all through the night, dozing off watching TV. Usually I am annoyed by Pupsie barking her fool head off at Copper Jack. Or thumping something around on the front porch while chewing on it. Monday night, there was nothing. No sound from Pupsie or Jack. No dogs on the front porch. When Farmer H got up at 5:45, I told him.

"I didn't hear Pupsie all night. I hope she's okay. She's not even tearing anything up."

"Good! Maybe I'll give it to her more, heh, heh."

Farmer H went off to do whatever he does all day. He said he was having a meeting with the city as part of his job running the elderly apartments. 

All morning, there was no sound from the dogs. At 10:45, I went to start up HIPPIE. I was really worried when I noticed the Benadryl on the kitchen table:

REALLY, Farmer H? You had to get EXTRA STRENGTH people medicine to give a young dog?

 As I'm typing this, I have not seen or heard Pupsie. She usually wanders around to the back porch and lies in the sun. I saw Jack walk by, head and tail down, around the corner to the water bowl.

I am afraid to look out, in case I discover something unpleasant. I don't want to disturb Farmer H because of his meeting, to ask if he saw Pupsie when he put out food this morning.

Dang it, Farmer H!

****************************************************************

UPDATE:

At 12: 28, I saw Pupsie on the back porch! She walked to the middle, and laid down. Her head kind of flopped down. Her breathing seemed slow compared to her usual panting. But she was ALIVE! About five minutes later, Jack walked by and laid down. Pupsie didn't lift her head or acknowledge him, when usually she jumps up and throws herself at his legs to knock him over, so they can play-fight with growling and wrestling. I guess she's still sleeping off her EXTRA-STRENGTH dose of a people drug.

*****************************************************************

Dr. H Prescribes A Treatment

Farmer H thinks he's a veterinarian now. He said he talked to some customers at his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5) about the problem of taming Pupsie enough to get her into a pet carrier to go to the vet for her very special operation on May 8th. Let the record show that he has NOT been spending time with the dogs on the porch every evening, despite the baggie full of cut-up hot dogs that I put in FRIG II to facilitate taming.

"They said to give her CBD oil. And that they give their dogs Benadryl while they're gone during the day. That it makes them sleep."

"Well, that's no surprise. Benadryl makes ME sleep! Dog Benadryl? From a vet?"

"No. It's people Benadryl."

"Did you ask how much they give their dogs?"

"No. I didn't ask."

"You don't want to kill them! I guess you could get CBD oil at any gas station. Or have The Pony get it from one of the shops on his route. But you don't know how much to give a dog."

I thought maybe Farmer H would think about the issue until next weekend, when he could ask the customers for more details. Nope. I came home Monday evening, and Farmer H said he had given Pupsie some Benadryl.

"From the vet?"

"No. The people kind. I put it in a hot dog. She ain't actin' no different yet. It was about 20 minutes ago."

"That's all it takes to put me to sleep! That's too much for a dog."

"I don't think it's affectin' her at all."

"She'll never eat a hot dog again!"

"I gave her somethin' else after the hot dog."

Farmer H kept checking on Pupsie for a couple hours.

"She let me pet her back while I was petting Jack. Then she realized what I had done."

"I know! That's how she is with me."

"Now she's laying in the middle of the yucca plant that her and Jack destroyed. She looks up at me."

"Well, at least she's conscious."

"I think it might take two pills to get her calm."

"That might kill her! Don't do that!"

Not sure where we're going with this amateur dosing of Pupsie. She really does need this very special operation.

Some Days You're The Envelope, Some Days You're The Fingertip

Mrs. HM is having one of those days. It's Sunday afternoon, and I'm getting ready for my town trip. First, I wanted to pay a couple bills. You know what that means. ONLINE, against my will, because of the lengthy lag in getting the statement, and having it credited upon return. This time it was for our satellite service that provides me with sweet, sweet internet and TV, and also the gas bill for our Bargain House flip.

Of course I write this down in my checkbook register so I have a record of the funds coming out of our bank account. I was doing just that when I dropped my pen. Dang it! Always something to slow me down when I'm in a hurry. Lucky for me, Farmer H got a grabber thingy when he had his back surgery, and I keep it on the kitchen chair next to me for just such situations when I'm at HIPPIE.

I used the grabber to pick up the pen from under my chair. As I was taking the pen from the grip, the grabber stick knocked off the gas bill. I had both the envelope and the actual statement lying on the table. And of course both of them fell.

I retrieved the statement first. Then the envelope. As I was taking the envelope from the grip of the grabber, I wiped off a small dust bunny that had attached itself while I was trying to push that envelope to where the grip could grab it. During the dust bunny wiping, the edge of the opened envelope sliced my middle fingertip.

YOWCH!

A papercut really smarts. And bleeds.

Such an awkward place for an injury. Then there's the matter of which bandaid to use on it after blotting away the blood. This is a different brand than the last one that caused my arm itching. It will be difficult to keep this one on. I'm not expecting a reaction. It will come off for the shower in a few minutes. And for dishwashing. It DID get me through writing in my checkbook register without staining the whole thing.

I hope my town trip goes better than this!

Perhaps This Relationship Is More One-Sided Than I Thought

Only one other person was in the Gas Station Chicken Store on Friday. He was coming out the door as I started in.

"I love you!" hollered Fave as he went out and I stepped inside.

"Wow. You never tell ME that you love me when I leave!"

"Ha ha. That was my boyfriend, if you didn't know."

"Well. I figured it must be your boyfriend. Or your SIDE boyfriend!"

That made Fave giggle. I knew she has a boyfriend. I know she has three or four kids. I know what down she lives in. I know her favorite scratchers. I know she has a dog that's part pit bull. But I'd never actually seen her boyfriend in the store before. Of course she's never seen Farmer H, either. But she knows he flips houses, and has a storage unit store.

Fave has a lot of customers to remember details for. I only have one Fave.

More Mockery From The Universe

We got two of our seven monthly electric bills on Thursday. They came in the same envelope, as usual, and were for Farmer H's storage unit stores. We have never (knock on Farmer H's wooden head) had any problem with these two bills. They arrive on time, and the checks are received on time. In this case, we're getting them on April 10, and they're due on April 30. That's a reasonable 20 days for mail delivery and processing. 

That's how this envelope arrived. Torn and stained. Yet still, it got here with plenty of time for the payment to be returned by the due date.

I presume the edge of the envelope's flap was not sealed completely, and stuck up, and got caught in a sorting machine. Stuff happens. Yet still, the bill(s) arrived with plenty of time to return payment.

If this can happen, and this envelope arrive in a timely manner, then why can't our electric bills for the three flip houses get here on time??? Same address. Same electric company. Same type of envelope. Even since the electric company started to put all three bills in a BIG WHITE 9 x 11 ENVELOPE, it has come on time once or twice.

I don't get it. Pure mockery, it seems.

Mrs. HM Is Not Only A Magician, But Also A 3-Ring Circus

Seems like only two days ago, I was making things disappear. Now I am a multi-talented performer, with a diversified repertoire. 

The winds kicked up again on Thursday, my errand day. I made sure to park T-Hoe so the wind would blow the door OPEN, and not the direction where that heavy driver's door could slam on my legs before I could get then inside the driver's cockpit.

Getting gas was okay. The wind whips heavy off the old lead mine, the flats of tailings which offer little resistance. The bank was problematic. Still no drive-thru service. The building did not block the wind as I expected. 

Mrs. HM had to multitask. She held herself upright, though it meant stopping with strong gusts, to prevent face-planting on the concrete. I made it to the ramp. Got my left hand on the metal rail. But the building did nothing to block the force of the wind. YO! BUILDING! What's up with that? The wind hitting me from my right switched to pushing me from my back. 

I held onto my withdrawal slip. Clutched it in my right hand with a death grip. And upon returning to T-Hoe, I also held onto my cash in a bank envelope. No way could I have chased it if the wind stole my money.

My lovely lady-mullet swirled about my head on both the entrance and exit trips. The shadow on the pavement was reminiscent of Medusa illustrations in my mythology book.

You are welcome, denizens of Hillmomba, for the free circus.

It Might Be Time For New Glasses

No, I'm not referring to the clear plastic lid for my eyeglass cleaner bottle, which I STILL have not found. It's clear! Like those round ice cubes with the hole in the middle, that I had to buy during FRIG II's respite from making the opaque, crescent-shaped ice cubes. I can find the FRIG II cubes when I drop one (since I have to remove them by hand from the bin, the automatic dispenser having been repaired by Farmer H a few years ago, and not stopping when you quit pushing the lever). So it's not a matter of vision concerning the lid.

I don't wear my glasses for driving. I just renewed my driver's license, and that's not a restriction. However...

On Monday afternoon, I started to town. As I got down on the lower gravel road that runs alongside the creek, where all those limbs and debris have been littering the road since the flood water receded, I saw a man on a tractor. "Oh. That's good," I thought. "Somebody is working on the road. Maybe they'll fill in the foot-deep ditch where Farmer H's Badly Blacktopped Hill washed out, since those yahoos tore out the blacktop." 

As I always do when I pass a tractor man working on our roads, I slowed. I put my window down. I gave the thumbs-up.

AND FARMER H SAID, "What?"

"Uh, I'm just saying good job that you're out working on the roads! I didn't even know you were down here. I saw that you left the mail on the table, but I thought you were over at the BARn. I didn't even know you had your tractor running again."

"Yeah. I'm cleanin' up these sticks."

"Oh. Well. Okay. I'm going to town. I left the door unlocked because I thought you were at the BARn. The dogs weren't there."

"Them dogs was down here with me a minute ago. I don't know where they are now."

Yeah. I didn't know my own husband when I was driving right past him... To be fair, he has a blue tractor AND a green tractor. So I'm never sure which one to look for.

Mrs. HM, The Inadvertent Magician

I never had dreams of being a magician. I still don't want to be a magician. Watching David Blaine specials are the extent of my interest. I don't even like David Copperfield or Penn & Teller.

Monday morning, I became a magician. I am still paying the price. 

I had just sat down at the kitchen table and fired up HIPPIE. My vision wasn't clear, so I pulled off my glasses and took a look. There was a giant smudge on the left lens. Well. Don't get me started on where THAT came from! I don't believe I made it appear. My glasses had been lying on the TV table next to the short couch. Farmer H was gone. I'd worn them while playing Wordle and checking The Pony's daily Cash4Life ticket, without any smudges. From there, I'd put them directly on top of my head after picking them up by the earpieces. Then I'd lowered them to my face at the table, also using the earpieces.

Anyhoo... I have a bottle of glasses cleaner that my mom gave me. It's four or five inches tall, full of clear liquid. It's incredible how LITTLE of this stuff you use. My mom died in 2015. So I've had it 10 years! She was so excited to give it to me. "Honey, if you run out, they refill it for FREE!" I think she got it at the optical shop in the Devil's Playground.

Anyhoo... this bottle sits on the chair next to me, in a box with my "files" for the flip houses. I took it out and set the clear cap on the table. As I reached for a half of a Select-A-Size paper towel to use after spritzing the cleaner on my glasses, I knocked the cap over the edge of the table. I heard it hit the floor. I was careful not to move my feet. I didn't want to break that clear lid.

I MADE THE LID DISAPPEAR!

It has to be somewhere in the kitchen. I spent 15 minutes looking for it. Kind of hard to see, because it's CLEAR! In my younger better-knees days, I would have gotten down and looked across the floor. Now I have to look from above. The lid is gone! I've looked behind every chair leg, around the pedestal of the table, under my heater, behind me, across from me into Farmer H's table territory, in the box of files, in the edge of my purse. It's like that lid has vaporized.

I don't want all my precious mom-given glasses-cleaning fluid to evaporate! My next step is using the broom to sweep the entire kitchen, and hopefully find that clear lid. If that doesn't find it, I will wrap the top with plastic wrap. And start looking at the store for similar bottles with similar lids. Just to get a lid!

Spilling Tea On A Denizen

You may recall from my not-so-secret blog that Farmer H has been having trouble with a Denizen of the place he likes to have lunch. Once they were fast friends, but for a while now, she has not treated him nicely. Ignoring him is a favor, according to Farmer H's tales of her slights.

Anyhoo... now that Denizen has been banned from "working" there for free, Farmer H has been approached by other eaters, and asked if he might want to play bar bingo again. You may recall that Farmer H enjoyed his Wednesday nights out, though I probably enjoyed them more!

Farmer H said that yes, he liked playing bingo, until the strife of the broken relationship, the reason for which he still has no clue.

"But won't you still run into her there? Doesn't she still play bingo?"

"No! They got mad, and quit going. It seems like they do something, then expect favors, and get mad if they don't get them."

"Why would they get mad playing bingo?"

"Well, you know we used to eat our supper there. That's why places have the bingo for free. To bring people in, and hope they buy drinks and food. I liked their food. I had no problem ordering supper there. But I guess Denizen quit having food. They said she would just order a soda, then get refills. And she had cherries in her soda. So when she asked for a refill, she asked for more cherries. Finally, they told her that only the first refill was free. Then she's have to buy another soda. And they said they would have to charge a quarter for each cherry after the first time. Someone said she was eating a whole jar of cherries during the bingo."

"Huh. I guess she'd rather give up bingo there rather than pay for food and drinks."

"Yeah. Seems like it."

I can understand the business policy. They say that bingo is free. That doesn't mean they are giving away soda and cherries! After all, they have to pay to be a part of the bar bingo, and for the prizes. It's one thing for people to come in just to play bingo. They don't have to buy anything. But when they expect "FREE" soda and cherries, that's something else entirely.

Recent Rains Wreak Havoc In Hillmomba

Four days of rain is taking its toll in Hillmomba. We are able to get out, though an alternate route to town must be used. It only adds a couple miles to the journey. Better safe than drowned!

Farmer H said there was a water rescue on Friday night. Over on the other road out of our enclave. The route we take when going to the city. There's a low water bridge on that county road. I can't believe people will drive into running water. Be safe! Turn around, don't drown! That's the slogan here in Missouri. It's probably used elsewhere, but it's always on the news channels and websites. I hope whoever it was really got rescued. I haven't seen anything on the news about fatalities in this area. So that's a good thing.

On the way to town Saturday, an emergency vehicle came up behind me on the county lettered highway. Let the record show that I was going the speed limit of 55 mph, and this auto was in a very big hurry, with red and blue lights flashing. There's no shoulder, but I signaled and pulled over as far to the right as I could get. The emergency vehicle flew past me. Good thing the oncoming traffic was slow. It was a tractor. He couldn't get over, but stopped to let the emergency vehicle fly past. I couldn't even tell if it was an ambulance or law enforcement. I was too busy getting out of the way. It looked like an SUV that the county sheriff's department uses.

In town, Fave reported that she was having a boring shift at the Gas Station Chicken Store. People stay home during bad weather on a Saturday. 

Two employees at 10Box passed on the sidewalk as I was going in. One told the other to make sure some guy brought in the plants before closing. Heh, heh. Always the comedian, I said: "To make sure they don't get wet!" The gal laughed, and responded, "To make sure nobody STEALS them!"

While I was getting my tickets out of the machines, there was a kerfuffle as other employees rushed to deal with a LEAK that was coming into the building. The carpet between the double doors was soaked. I assume it's because water pooled and was running in. The parking lot kind of slants down to the building.

Sunday, the rain is supposed to finally end. Not soon enough for me!

A Sticky Predicament

You may recall that last Thursday, I gouged out a small portion of my arm epidermis while trying to put away Farmer H's mini cheeseburgers that he takes for lunch at his SUS2.5. In stemming the flow of blood from this (possibly) attempted murder plot, I put on a bandaid.

I left it on for two or three days. I felt like that wound was healing. It had a little itch. So I took off the bandaid. Well. The wound itself looked good. The injury happened on March 27. The bandaid did more damage than the cheeseburger box!

This picture is from Monday, March 31. The itch was NOT the healing of the gouge, but the reaction of my skin to the adhesive on the bandaid. It got more and more itchy over the next few days. As I type this on Saturday, April 5, the itch has gone. But the red splotches still remain, and the wound itself has just the tiniest scab particle that is hardly noticeable.

It was not a brand name bandaid. Just a store brand. It was the only choice, unless I wanted a giant patch about 3 x 4 inches. I am loathe to throw them away, because Farmer H is often nicking himself on metal or wood, and needs them. I just can't remember which bandages do this to my skin.

Hmm. Surely Farmer H doesn't plant these bandaids where I'll be sure to use them...

Farmer H Reclines To His Own Drummer

We had storms again on Friday. Hillmomba was under a flash flood warning. Supposedly we will get between six and eight inches of rain by Sunday afternoon. That's okay. The Mansion sits high upon a hill. We know to take alternate routes when the creek is up. The worst part is for The Pony, out in the deluge, delivering the mail. You're welcome, all you people expecting your check at the first of the month.

Wednesday, we also had storms. Severe storms. Lucky for Hillmomba and Sis-Town, we were in the middle of two violent thunderstorms that spawned tornadoes. One hit a town 30 miles to our east. A town that's only 10-15 miles from Newmentia, where I used to teach. It must have been quite scary for students and staff, coming about the time school lets out. I can remember a day when we had such a scenario, and how we lined up in the hall on all fours, with heads to the wall. Some students crying. One freshman boy putting his arm around a cafeteria worker, telling her it would be okay. And another day, when we all crammed into the locker rooms on the lower level off the gym, to the point of some students being the toilet stalls because of the crowding.

Tornadoes are unpredictable. The terror is warranted. Pictures on the news Thursday showed houses that looked like they exploded. Yet the residents were safe, though they had to be rescued from the basement. They were lucky. Sometimes a tornado scours the ground, and rips up pavement from the road.

Anyhoo... on Friday, the excess rain was the main worry, though regions south of Hillmomba were on alert for pop-up tornadoes in the afternoon. Farmer H got home at 5:00. The rain had just started up again, after a 3-hour lull. The skies were dark. I figured Farmer H would sit in his recliner, and check the news stations for updates.

Instead, I heard singing. Like opera kind of singing. What in the Not-Heaven? Farmer H is no fan of opera. Then the lights flickered. The TV and internet went off, as they reset, but the lights came back. I asked Farmer H what he was watching with the opera singing.

"That wasn't opera. That was Gomer, on The Andy Griffith Show."

Oh. Well. Does that make sense? That in such a weather situation, instead of checking with the news for the current radar, and any warnings to take cover, Farmer H instead was watching 60-year-old reruns?

Farmer H reclines to his own drummer.

Pupsie Is Canine Non-Grata

Farmer H is quite displeased with Pupsie this week. He discovered that she'd chewed up the seat on his lawnmower. Which came a few weeks after discovering that she'd taken his key out of the ignition, so he has to use the Gator key in it. Good thing it works for both.

"You can duct tape it! Doesn't that work for everything?"

"It's chewed down to the metal! It has a big hole in the middle!"

"Stuff something in there, and THEN duct tape it! Maybe that'll keep her from chewing."

When Farmer H was carrying in groceries, Pupsie followed him.

"Yeah. There you are! Stop chewing up my seat, you stupid dog."

"Oh, that's going to make her easier to catch, isn't it."

"Well, she needs to know that she's a bad dog. Bad dog!"

Farmer H later said he sprayed some ether on the seat. In hopes of discouraging Pupsie from chewing on it.

"Doesn't that evaporate really fast?"

"Yeah. But I sprayed it down in the stuffing in the hole in the seat. So maybe the smell with hang around, and she won't want to eat it."

"If it doesn't kill her!"

Wednesday evening, we heard Pupsie on the front porch, thumping something around.

"She's out there chewing on my dog statue. She's got it about eat up." Farmer H went to the front door. "Stop that. Leave that dog alone. Quit eating my dog. Bad. Bad dog."

"There you go again. Like she's going to understand all that. Just tell her NO! I did that with the grocery box today, and she moved away from it."

"Huh. You want to get petted? Come on. There you go. Now leave that dog alone." Farmer H came back to his recliner. "She come up and sniffed my hand! And she let me pet the side of her mouth."

"That's what she does to me."

"She ain't never got that close to me before. Oh, and when I went out a while ago, to get my Senior Center cherry crisp out of the truck... I found the lawnmower key on the sidewalk! The keychain thing was gone, and part of the rubber coating on the key. I guess she ate them."

Maybe there's some hope to catch Pupsie. Maybe she's slowed down, being full of seat cushion and keychain and fake dog.

Sometimes I Think Farmer H Does This On Purpose

Farmer H does not communicate in a manner that I find logical. He will make a statement that leaves out pertinent details, and expect me to know what he's talking about. This week he had to fix a leaking sink for one of the elderlies at the Senior Center. He was telling me about it that morning.

"Yeah, we'll go by and fix the sink for the 88-year-old gal. Then I have to put in a garage door for Agnes [not real name]."

"Who in the Not-Heaven is Agnes?"

"The old lady. The one who bought the QuickFlip house. But she's paying me for that."

"You can put in a GARAGE DOOR?"

"Yes. It's just like any other door. A door in her garage."

"You mean like a people door?"

"Yeah. A door to go in and out of her garage."

Well of course. Because any time I hear "garage door" I automatically think of a regular door going in and out of a garage. NOT. That's why in my boring tales of my travels to town, and my adoring fleabags, I always specify "people door" when I talk about the entrance/exit to the garage, rather than the big segmented door that raises and lowers to allow T-Hoe egress and ingress.

I swear Farmer H does this on purpose, so he can tell me I'm wrong, and I don't know nothin'. Then again, maybe he just thinks everybody's brain works like his. What a scary thought!

If This Tune Sounds Familiar...

It's because Mrs. HM wails this song every other month. Feel free to tune up your world's smallest violin and accompany me. A rousing jam session. Just one more service Mrs. HM provides. Unlike THE ELECTRIC COMANY, which lately seems to provide very little in the service arena.

Once again, the electric bills for our flip houses have gone awry. You may recall that in January, all three bills arrived in a timely manner. Two of the payments were received in a timely manner. But one went missing. Missing for several weeks. It was paid online on the due date. Then the check arrived a week or two after that. So we double-paid, but got a credit on the next bill.

Yes, the February bills came on time. All three of the flip house electric bills in one giant 8 x 12 white envelope. Different from the two electric bills for Farmer H's storage unit stores, and the two bills (Mansion and BARn) for our home, which come in regular business size envelopes, always on time. I don't know how there can be such an issue so often. 

On Friday, Farmer H sent me a text. He'd received an email that the Bargain House electric bill was due on April 3. I did not get such a notice, though I get them on all other of these seven accounts. I went online to pay, since we didn't have a bill. I checked through my checkbook register, and saw that I had also not paid the other two flip houses, because we never got a bill! Bills for these flips usually come between the 20th-22nd of the month, all due on the 3rd. I paid those two online as well.

Monday the 31st, we got the three bills for the flip houses, all in one giant white envelope. Our mail comes in the afternoon. The earliest we could have mailed back a check would be April 1st. Hoping for it to arrive and be credited by April 3rd. I'm pretty sure that would not happen.

These statements are dated March 13. So it took 18 days for the electric company to get these bills to us. I seriously doubt that was a problem of the USPS. The February payments were mailed on the 20th, and received by the electric company on the 26th, with a weekend in between those dates. Something is fishy about the way the electric company is sending out these bills. It's like they are hoping to charge people for a late fee.

Yes. I know my song is a broken record. No. I will NOT allow the electric company access to my bank account to draw out money for automatic payments. I'm not about to try dealing with that when we sell these flip houses, and want to stop automatic payments. It's a giant hassle of trying to get a real person on the phone at both the bank and the electric company, and then HOPING they do their job right.

I'll just keep singing this song, next verse, same as the first, and making a "guest" payment online when the bills don't arrive. I really prefer a check, for record-keeping purposes, especially on these flip houses. If the electric company can mess up paper statements, a billing method which has been used for decades, who's to say they won't mess up their electronic data as well?

One Way Or Another, I'm Still Pretty Sure

For a short time, I thought maybe the efforts had stopped. That perhaps Farmer H was NOT trying to kill me. Nah! I'm pretty sure he's just developed more subtle tactics.

Thursday I bought the lunch treats that Farmer H likes to take to his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5) on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. They are little slider-size sandwiches that come in boxes, as part of the 5-for-$25 deal at Country Mart. Farmer H likes all three kinds: chicken, spicy chicken, and cheeseburger. You never know which kind will be available. Sometimes all three, so he gets a selection. For the past two weeks, I could only find the plain chicken. But this time, the cheeseburgers were available.

These little sandwiches are wrapped two to a pack, inside the box, in clear cellophane. The cheeseburgers come three packs to a box, the chicken contains four packs. Anyhoo... boxes take up a lot of room in the freezer. So I take out the packs and wedge them into space between other foods.

I opened up a box of cheeseburgers at the cutting block, to put them in FRIG II's freezer in the kitchen, rather than the mini chest freezer in the laundry room. As I reached down into the end of the box, to get the last pack, the flap caught my arm. That was a mess!

I felt the stab, so I noticed right away, and found a bandaid so I didn't get the leaking blood all over my town shirt. It's not like I needed a tourniquet. I was in no danger of exsanguinating. It's just annoying and messy.

Also, I have been dealing with healing this bruise on my other arm. I whacked it on a doorknob about a week ago. I really hate to go to town in short sleeves lately, heh, heh!

When he built our Mansion, Farmer H put French door handles on all the interior doors. You know, the long kind, with a little curlicue on the end. Not something practical for a household with a 2-year-old and a soon-to-be born baby Pony. With a regular round doorknob, you can at least put those plastic covers over them for child-proofing. But not with a lever there to be yanked. Anyhoo... Farmer H sometimes does not open the bedroom door completely against the wall when he comes out in the morning. So in the afternoon, when I come out after showering for town, I misjudge that partially open door, and whack my arm on the handle.

Good thing I'm not still taking that devil-drug Xarelto, the blood-thinner they gave me after my blood clots incident. Aspirin is bad enough, but I might actually exsanguinate from these Farmer H-caused injuries if still taking Xarelto.

So crafty, that Farmer H, seeing into the future and setting his traps 27 years in advance.