In The EmBee Sits A Box-er

He is just a poor man
And his story's often told
He would squander my inheritance
On a boulevard full of themed sheds, and his donut treats
All shots and tests
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest 

Lie la lie, lie la la la lie lie
Lie la lie, lie la la la la lie la la lie...

On Wednesday, we had only one piece of mail in EmBee. It was a white box. Larger than the box a set of new checks used to come in. Smaller than a Puffs With Lotion box. It was addressed to Farmer H. I know how Farmer H loves a surprise gift. Or anything FREE. I was also sure that this was not a gift.

The Box bore the name of Farmer H's supplemental health insurance provider. And another company they've partnered with. I'd gotten an email saying that it would arrive soon. And that it contained a preventative health screening kit.

I don't know about you, but I'm leery of tests that come in the mail wanting your blood. Especially one that includes "Global Turnkey Solutions" as part of the return address. I smell a fresh conspiracy in the making.

Farmer H did not yet know about this screening kit. I figured I'd cross that bridge when I came to it. I arrived at the edge Wednesday evening. Of course Farmer H was excited about unboxing his FREE gift from his insurance company. After all, the last time he got something was about a month ago, and it was two lime-green face masks.

Farmer H uses Humana for his insurance supplement. The label said this was their preventative health screening kit, partnered with Everlywell, to help him monitor his health. The Box contained a self-test that he could do at home, by sticking his finger and dabbing his blood on a card, and send back. In his case, it was an A1C test. He routinely gets that test at his doctor's nurse-practitioner's office.

I was happy (as happy as Mrs. HM gets) when I heard Farmer H exclaim, "Why would I want to send them my information?" He closed up The Box and set it on the floor. I was giddy with joy.

I didn't want him to fall victim to another Humana-partnered mix-up, and become one of a pool of 600,000 people erroneously notified that he tested positive for the VIRUS!

Because They're Selfless Like That

Hillmomba is a sleepy little burg. Like Mayberry. Out of the limelight. Not a lot happens here. Over the past month, riots have broken out in towns south. One of Farmer H's Storage Unit Store customers got arrested for throwing a bottle. The police booked him, and strongly suggested that he not return to the town square, and offered to escort him home, for his own safety. I think he was angered about abuse of a flag, triggered because he'd lost a son in the military. Which still does not justify throwing a bottle at the town square.

Anyhoo... that area is over 30 miles away. Farmer H saw the happenings on Facebook. We don't know why that town was chosen for shenanigans, but we do know that participants were bused in for the conflict. On more than one night.

The next event was over in Bill-Paying Town, 20 miles away. No incidents. Peaceful demonstration.

Another one was a block away, from the $5000 house, where HOS (Farmer H's Oldest Son) lives now. He walked uptown. Said there was some shouting back and forth. Not many people. No violence.

The clerk at the Gas Station Chicken Store has been looking for a personal defense implement. She drives from farther up north, about 30 miles, which I will call Elevated Ledge. She said she was worried, because Hillmomba sits right on the highway, and was likely a target for future demonstrations. She visited the Storage Unit Store, but found nothing small enough for her liking.

Last week, the event was at the post office across from the School-Turn Casey's. Farmer H was driving by, and saw them. A lot of young girls, he said, waving signs, running their mouths, trying to provoke. Nothing really happened. Nobody took the bait.

Well. Hillmomba was awakened from its slumber. Tuesday morning, Farmer H informed me that a protest was scheduled uptown.

"It's supposed to be uptown this afternoon."

"I'm glad you told me. I was going to write out the bills and mail them, but I don't want to run into that mess. Besides, what if they shoot off fireworks into the snout of the mailbox? [The Dead Mouse Smelling Post Office is across from a little park. Uptown.] I'll wait another day. I don't want my bills incinerated."

Because, you know, Farmer H didn't say there was going to be a peaceful outpouring of support uptown. He said a protest. There are protests, and there are riots. You never know which one you're going to get. Even sleepy Hillmomba has hot-heads.

Anyhoo... I got to town about 1:15 and didn't go uptown. I went to the Gas Station Chicken Store and Country Mart. Farmer H was in town to get gas for the lawnmower. He ordered Casey's pizza to pick up at 5:00, with his Rewards offer that would run out on Wednesday.

Next thing I know, it's around 5:00 and the house phone is ringing, and it's Farmer H.

"Them protesters are here at the corner of Casey's."

"Oh, no! Is the pizza okay?"

Heh, heh. I may or may not have actually said that.

"Are you in the middle of them?"

"Nah. Looks like they're just getting started. Looks like a bunch of kids. Maybe 8 of them."

By the time Farmer H got home, I had found a picture of the protest on a local Facebook page. They were standing in front of CeilingReds, with the parking lot of the Gas Station Chicken Store over their shoulder! Oh, no! The clerk at the GSCS is afraid of protests! As I said, she'd been worrying about it for weeks.

"You know, we're right on the highway. I don't want no trouble. I'm afraid of what might happen. But I WILL protect myself if they surround my truck."

Just her luck, she'd been put on the 1:00 to CLOSE shift on Tuesday! So here she was, with all those protesters (all 8, of the kids) out front, for her to fret over until closing.

Anyhoo... there was nobody opposing the protesters at that time. So they were just standing on the side of the road with their signs on posterboard from Walmart. Farmer H said he saw city police and state highway patrol cars. Probably more cops than kids. He knew one of the cops, who told him, "This is their one chance. We'll protect both sides in case of trouble, but any further gatherings, they're on their own."

I don't imagine there was any trouble. All I saw later were a few people sitting on their vehicles across the road, at the liquor store. One man walked over to talk. An officer came up and persuaded him to go back to the liquor store.

A local restaurant even had a sign out front, offering protesters a free sandwich. A free KNUCKLE sandwich.

Methinks they doth protest too near. Hopefully they're done, since this event fizzled out.

Gaslighting The Check-Writer

I think my credit card company is gaslighting me. There's no reason for that, other than to drag me kicking and screaming and karate-chopping and hairpulling and donkey-punching into the modern age. This bad news is for them:

A LONG AS A CHECK ACTS AS A MONEY SUBSTITUTE FOR EVENTUAL LEGAL TENDER, YOU'LL GET NO AUTOMATIC PAYMENT FROM MRS. HILLBILLY MOM.

Oh, they're itchin' to get their tentacles into my bank account. I'm sure of it! Always trying to get me to convert to paperless statements. Pay by phone or online. Nope. Accounts get hacked every day. You don't need any of my extra information stored in your tempting database. I think they're mad because we pay the balance in full every month. No profit off of our interest. No annual fee like they used to try and charge us.

Anyhoo... here's what they're doing now.

The part of the statement that gets returned with the check has the amount of the bill, and the amount of the minimum payment, in a gray box in the upper right corner. THOSE NUMBERS WERE BLURRY! No, it was not my eyes. That's what they'd like me to THINK! That my eyes are going bad, and I'd better get some other payment method set up while I can still see well enough to do so!

It's not like the bill got wet. That sometimes happens, and the envelope and contents get all puckery. This was just blurry printing. Like they'd used a DOT MATRIX printer for that part! The address was still sharp. As well as the instructions. All other writing on the statement, in assorted sizes, was sharp and clear.

I guess I showed THEM! I waited a whole day after I received the statement to write out their check. Heh, heh! One less day of profit they can make off the interest they'll draw from my money deposited in their account before the due date.

When Camouflage Goes Wrong

When I was a kid, we had a black miniature poodle named Buster. He was smart, in a doggy kind of way. Buster knew a lot of tricks. He knew his toys, and family people, by name. When it was bedtime, he resisted being sent to his sleeping place, the basement, by playing dead. That makes him as smart as a toddler, right? Because the Ex-Mayor my sister's husband says their daughter used to do that.

"If she doesn't want to do something, she does the Dead Dog Flop. She flings herself down on the floor, and all bones leave her body. She goes limp, so you can hardly pick her up."

One thing Buster wasn't very smart about was hiding. If he was in trouble, he'd stick his head under the couch. It wasn't high enough for him to crawl under. Only his head would fit under the ruffle. Yet he thought he was hidden, because he couldn't see US.

Here's another critter that thought it was hidden.

Even when you think you're swimming alone in Poolio... you might have a companion! The Pony discovered this uninvited guest a couple weeks ago, in the ladder grip. Don't go thinking we have giant frogs in Hillmomba! Farmer H says this little niche is about the size of a quarter. So it's an extreme closeup.

He actually looks more toady than froggy. While we don't have GIANT frogs around the Mansion, we have many. They're always getting caught in Poolio before the official opening. Under the cover, in the filter, aimlessly swimming. I do like to hear them peeping when spring rolls around.

I haven't seen one this color. Perhaps he's a tree-dweller. How could he get into that hidey-hole? I'm pretty sure he didn't hop. Maybe he has those suction-cup toes.

The fake fish pond has frogs. They sound like bullfrogs. I only see one occasionally. I know there's more than one, because right now the fake fish pond is full of tadpoles. A fact I discovered when taking Farmer H a hot dog for lunch, while he was spraying weeds.

"Is it raining?"

"No. Just cloudy."

"Why are there only raindrops hitting the fish pond?"

"There's no raindrops."

"Oh! Wait! Something is in there. It's TADPOLES! Coming to the surface. I just saw one. They're all over. I guess they come up to eat a gnat as it lands on the surface."

One good thing about a frog infestation. They don't carry the cat kibble up into the air cleaner under SilverRedO's hood. Make that two good things. We don't have a mosquito problem.

Every Mansion Has A Pooper And This Mansion Has Two (PART 2)

There has been a spate of porch-poopings at the Mansion! No, I don't blame Farmer H. These are solid poops, nothing smear-worthy.

I first noticed a few weeks ago, when THAT DOG was romping around every time I tried to get from kitchen door to garage. It was in the area of Gassy G Lite. I figured maybe THAT DOG had pooped, not being familiar with the big outdoor toilet used by Juno and Jack. It's the grove of trees out behind Shackytown Boulevard, where the sinkholes lie.

Last week, there was another collection of poops, on the back porch, in the area overlooking the fake fish pond. Huh. Farmer H, of course, blamed my little Jack. I don't know why my small dog is Farmer H's colossal scapegoat. I pointed out how long Jack has been with us (four years), without pooping on the porch. A half-heeler doesn't change his spots.

A couple days ago, the poop field was on the other side of the steps leading from the porch to garage. Same size. Same scattered pattern. I'd started thinking that perhaps a critter was getting up on the porch at night. The dogs go crazy sometimes. Maybe a raccoon. Or a possum. Or...

WAIT A MINUTE!

The last time I had that theory was when something was pooping in the garage. And we remember how THAT turned out. Don't we? The wildlife camera set up by Farmer H and The Pony, which revealed the culprit to be... OUR BLACK TUXEDO CAT, STOCKINGS!

He's the only living cat left around here. He's looking pretty rough. I have a feeling that some of the noise I hear at night is the Grim Reaper, tap-tap-tapping at Death's door, asking for authorization to have a consultation with Stockings.

Yesterday, the poops were on the landscaped lava rocks beside the garage door.

It's pretty hard to point out the error of his ways to a CAT. Stockings is (and HAS, from the looks of the poops), a big butthole. He has always been quite aloof, shunning our kind words and touch. I don't imagine any type of training is likely at this stage of his life. A dissuasion, maybe.

I'm open to ideas...

Every Mansion Has A Pooper And This Mansion Has Two (PART 1)

Sweet Gummi Mary! My cup runneth over, and not with anything pleasant.

You might recall the slight problem we have with Farmer H leaving his mark on the master bathroom toilet. Well. We're still having that problem. He refuses to take responsibility.

When illuminated on the recurrence of the issue a few days ago, he snorted. SNORTED! As if to belittle ME for mentioning it! Like it was a total figment of my imagination. Like I was trying to frame him while on the stand in a court of common law!

"Dad. I've seen it too!" Thank the Gummi Mary, The Pony is observant while waiting for the reservoir to fill for his nightly soak in the big triangle tub.

That shut up the poopetrator momentarily, but only because he was outnumbered.

It happened again yesterday. When once again I brought the issue to light, as Farmer H was walking across the living room after his dip in Poolio... he was less than receptive.

"Oh, lordy! Here we go again."

"It's on the back of the seat. If you can't see it, get my magnifying glass. But don't touch it to the poop!"

"I think you're seeing things."

On he went. Leaving the door to the bedroom AND bathroom open, of course, for changing out of his SpongeBob boxers that he wears for swimming lying on the air mattress, floating in circles.

"Huh. You mean this little SPECK?"

Um. Yes. A little speck of poop is still POOP!!!

"YES! How would YOU like to sit in a 'little speck' of MY POOP? Not very much, I'm thinking."

Funny how everything is MY fault around here! Except the second pooper. Coming tomorrow.

The UNIVERSE Jams A Stick In Mrs. HM's Spokes

Sweet Gummi Mary! What else can possibly go wrong? Lightning strike, disabled phone, needless BEEPing alarm, chicken strips the size of nuggets, The Pony's FOOT holding my TV remote, The Pony's shed hair being stroked by him like a guinea pig, a buttered coffee table, Farmer H willing to trade me for a (3rd!) tractor...

Here's what else can go wrong:

COUNTRY MART REARRANGED THEIR SHELVES!

My pride wenteth before this fall. Just the night before, I had a lengthy discussion with Farmer H concerning their merchandise. It was lengthy for ME. But apparently not for Farmer H. Very funny, Even Steven.

Farmer H took his "girlfriend" to the doctor in the city on Thursday. He scoffs when I call her his "girlfriend." Even though he texts her a lot, and drives her to some kind of treatment every week. And even said she cried one time because she was afraid I would be mad at him for spending so much time with her. Oh, Honey! If you only knew...

Anyhoo... out of the blue, right after supper, Farmer H said,

"Where do you get my popcorn?"

"The Corn-On-the-Cob popcorn?"

"Yeah."

"Country Mart, why? Did you eat all of it? There were four bags on the table. I'm going shopping tomorrow."

"I had part of a bag in the truck. My friend asked me about it."

"Oh, I see! Your girlfriend wants to know. You're asking for your girlfriend. Now you want me to buy HER some popcorn!"

"No. No. There was some left in the bag, and she tried some."

"So she feels so comfortable in your truck that she thinks she can just pick up random food and eat it?"

"She just tried it. She said it was good, and asked where I got it."

"I'm not buying popcorn for your girlfriend! It's in Country Mart. On the side by the pharmacy. In the middle aisle that goes across. Halfway between the pharmacy and the milk cooler. You go past the deli, turn left, and you'll come to the aisle."

Anyhoo... I went into Country Mart on Friday, past the deli, turned left, and saw everything was different!!! Instead of pool toys and paper plates, there was a whole aisle of cookies! And candy on the other side! A lady was putting stuff on the former $1 chip shelves. I asked her where I could find the $1 chips now.

"Over where the cases of water used to be."

The OPPOSITE CORNER of the store! I ended up there, and saw that they were out of the Corn-On-the-Cob popcorn.

When I got home, I explained it to Farmer H.

"So it's not where I said it was. Now it's over in the corner, on the front wall, where the water used to be. So if you told your girlfriend exactly where to find it, she won't."

"Oh. I didn't listen to that. I just told her you get it at Country Mart."

Not any more, I don't!