The Pony, Like Farmer H, Would Make A Terrible Criminal

Good thing The Pony doesn't seem bent of a life of crime. He'd be locked up, the key thrown away, and a permanent resident of the Crossbars Hilton before he even got started. Like Farmer H, he is not a good liar.

 

I sent him a text as I left Country Mart, asking for his help carrying in groceries. The Pony is very good about assisting with manual tasks for ME. (Farmer H might beg to differ.) It's a good thing, too, because that crazy cashier put a bag of onions, a bunch of bananas, three large baking potatoes, and a bottle of mustard in one bag! I take that back. In TWO bags, because she had to double-bag them. I swear that thing weighed 50 pounds! I could hardly lift it out of the cart and into T-Hoe. 

Anyhoo... The Pony trotted out, and grabbed my bags. Another contained Country Crock margarine and sour cream, and a third with some pretzel rolls. He also took my purse. All I had was my magical elixir. It takes me a while to get up the steps, with the dogs whirling around in a frenzy anticipating their treat. This day it was old hot dog buns wiped in bacon grease.

I was talking to the dogs as I reached for the doorknob.

WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN?

I almost pulled my shoulder out of the socket, and banged my head on the door. 

IT WAS LOCKED!

I pounded on the metal door with my open palm. Not angry. Just bewildered. Feeling sorry for myself. The Pony had just gone inside! WHY would he lock me out? His beloved mother! When he opened the door, I stood there with my most pitiful expression. A facial version of Nancy Kerrigan's "WHYYYYY?" Only not whiny.

"Why did you lock me out?"

"Um. I didn't know that I did."

"Obviously it didn't lock itself. You had to turn the button in the doorknob."

"I don't know how that could have happened! I didn't lock the door. Maybe my phone did it."

"How in the NOT-HEAVEN is your phone going to lock a door?"

"By hitting the button thing?"

"Yeah, right. There's no way that could happen."

"Let's see. I had it in my jacket pocket. Maybe it swung against the doorknob as I came in."

Here's where you must suspend your belief in the laws of physics! And also in the valedictorianship of The Pony. HE WENT TO THE DOOR AND STARTED SLINGING HIS POCKETED PHONE AGAINST THE DOORKNOB!

After about 10 times, I yelled "STOP IT! You know your phone could not have done that!"

"Oh, really? Well, the door is now locked."

I suppose The Pony had turned that little button with his hand while I was preoccupied. NO WAY could banging a cell phone against a doorknob's lock button make it turn.

"I can't believe you're going with that scenario! I'm not mad. I guess you absentmindedly turned the lock. Why don't you just say so? This is ridiculous. CRAZY, even!"

 

"Well... I remember how many times you yell at me for not locking a door."

 

"I have NEVER yelled at you for not locking a door. Dad has. And you have to admit, we prefer to have the house locked up when nobody is home. And when we're sleeping."

 

Like Farmer H, The Pony cannot admit a mistake.

 

SWEET GUMMI MARY! It's not like The Pony forgot to lock a door once or twice when he came home. Nope. The Pony forgot to lock the door when HE LEFT, and EVERYONE ELSE WAS GONE! Also, after taking the dumpster up after dark, and returning to the Mansion.

 

You may recall that we'd been having the mail-stealers, and that guy who kept breaking into a house up by our 10 acres on the hill. With video footage of him roaming around inside, posted on the Facebook page of our enclave. Also, we had people living in a car on our other property until Farmer H pulled a big tree across the driveway to keep them out. And then there was the matter of a STOLEN TRUCK being found down in our woods! Of course Farmer H had decreed that we keep all Mansion doors locked! Even when at home. It did not seem like an outrageous command at all. 

Anyhoo... The Pony will never avoid jail with such an outlandish alibi. He needs a career, but it better not be as a career criminal.

Buying A Daily 44 oz Diet Coke And Scratchers Is Almost As Hard As A Full-Time Job

Okay. Maybe not as hard as a TEACHING job. But not a walk in the park.

 

I have a plan when I start to town. I know where I want to buy my scratchers, and what tickets I want. Of course I always get my magical elixir from the Gas Station Chicken Store. But the order of my stops varies.

 

I went to the liquor store first on Friday. It's on the right side of the road. I planned to make a right turn out of their parking lot when I left, and a quick left turn into Casey's. Then to the Gas Station Chicken Store for the 44. I don't like to get tickets off the same roll. I've been buying the $3 tickets lately. So I go to at least two different stores, or more depending on if I had a winner the day before, and don't feel like another winner is likely from the same place.

 

Anyhoo... I pulled into the far left parking spot up by the liquor store. There were cars at the drive-thru window, but that doesn't affect me. They have a separate register. Only one other car was parked in front of the store. As I gathered my phone (always on the penny-watch) and money, more cars arrived. People started rushing in there like they were late for a FREE meat giveaway! Or buying their weekend liquor on a Friday afternoon...

 

I counted 7 people enter before I got T-Hoe's door open! And only 1 came out as I sat and watched. That place was like a roach motel! They check in but they don't check out! No way was I going to walk in that narrow-aisled store and find a place to stand in line. It's not like I can lean on one of the liquored shelves, like I can lean on the unchickened counter of the Gas Station Chicken Store. My wobbley knees would be locked up and Frankensteiny by the time I was able to leave. I waited so long for customers to come out that T-Hoe's radio shut off! That was at least 15 minutes!

 

Well. I gave up. I backed out of my tight space, since now cars filled the lot, and one was pulling in and had to wait on me to maneuver. I made my turn to Casey's, and THEIR parking lot was full! So I took the alley through Farmer H's pharmacy, and went directly to the Gas Station Chicken Store.

 

Man Owner was minding the shop by himself. So the line was slow. Luckily a drunk man motioned me to go ahead of him. I'm not ASSuming. You could have smelled his breath all the way over at the liquor store parking lot. He was a happy drunk, though. And if he'd needed a dollar for a bottle of whiskey, I would have donated to his cause. He seemed more like a beer dude, though.

Since I still needed another source for tickets, I went to Country Mart. What can delay me from getting my own tickets from a machine? You'd be surprised. There was a man standing out front with a small table of merchandise.

"Would you like to support our urban boys' club by buying a candy bar?"

"Not today. I hadn't planned on it."

He was nice enough. I don't begrudge an urban boys' club their funding. But I know how the prices of those candy bars have gone up during my teaching career. More money, less candy. It might cost me a five to get a sliver of chocolate the size of a toothpick these days!

My gambling addiction outweighed my gluttony!

Anyhoo... I completed my mission. Tickets in hand, I strolled by the candy man and hoisted myself into T-Hoe. The Pony won $15 on his $3 bingo ticket that I got out of Country Mart's machine. I won $50 on my $3 crossword ticket that I got from the Gas Station Chicken Store.

My non-job may be hard, but some days it pays pretty well.

Mrs. HM, The Arbiter Of Sustenance

Last Friday, I drove The Pony to Little Caesar's so we could pick up pizza for supper. The Pony and I eat our pizza for three days. Farmer H is usually one and done. He might take it to his Storage Unit Store for lunch Saturday and Sunday. Or he might have a couple slices before the auction on Saturday evening, but he is just as likely to grab a hamburger at the auction. He generally doesn't have the pizza as an actual second or third meal. I guess he's too good for leftovers.

Anyhoo... The Pony and I ate pizza on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. He went to do the Devil's Playground on Monday. I was making room in FRIG II for the new groceries. Not that we need meat. But things like wine and fancy cheeses and olives and lettuce. There were two pizza boxes in the way. Taking up area on two shelves.

I took out three slices of Farmer H pepperoni pizza, and two slices of The Pony's cheese pizza. I set them by the sink, handy for dog treats upon return from town trips, and put the boxes under the counter to be taken out to the dumpster, or burned by Farmer H.

The Pony arrived as I was getting ready to leave. He put away groceries and went to his room. Maybe to avoid Farmer H, who had taken up residence at the kitchen table to write in his little black book. Making sure his sales were up to date for his firearms. He keeps detailed records for that stuff.

Farmer H was gone when I got back home. The Pony carried in my magical elixir and purse. I was at the door, bemoaning the fact that only my Sweet, Sweet Juno was there to enjoy a slice of pizza.

"I guess Dad has the other two dogs with him at the BARn. Oh, well. Juno can feast on pizza!"

"I like how you arbitrarily decided to throw away my pizza."

"It was FOUR DAYS OLD! You went to Steak N Shake before you did the shopping! WHEN did you plan on eating it?"

"Tomorrow. For lunch."

"I seriously doubt you were going to eat FIVE DAY OLD PIZZA!"

"Well, I was."

You know if I'd left it in FRIG II, it would still be there...

The Lyin', The Queen, And The Manufactured Home

We took the alternate route back to the highway when we left the casino on Tuesday. It's two-lane undivided curving road, with stoplights, lined with businesses. There had been a snowstorm while The Pony and I were inside, when Farmer H left the casino to make his pawn shop stops. Farmer H said it had been slick at the height of the storm, and he had slid around in A-Cad.

"You were going too fast for conditions."

"No. I just slid when I hit the brakes."

"Exactly. Good thing you didn't wreck. How would The Pony and I get home?"

"I drive good in the snow."

"No you don't! Just because you say it's so doesn't make it so. I was so scared on the way down here that I had to close my eyes."

"That's YOUR problem."

"Look out! You are SO close to this trailer-truck! So close that if the Queen was in it, I could reach out and high-five her!"

"Hey! Look! It's somebody's house."

"It's somebody's HALF a house!"

"It's a manufactured home."

"Great. We'll never get around it. Look how wide it is."

"We won't have to. We've got the light."

Well. We DID have the light, and got our turn before that Half-House. Unfortunately, up ahead of us was the other half!

"Oh, great. Now we're trapped."

The Pony popped off with his droll humor. "You could LITERALLY say that we're between houses right now."

Well done.

The Pony Cannot Change His Spots

I see interesting things from my seat on the end of the marred coffee table every morning, while catching up on the innernets on my laptop HIPPIE, parked on a TV tray in front of the living room window. Like Tuesday, when my little Jack came romping across the yard, strutting stiff-legged, chest puffed out (actually that's a characteristic of heelers), with something in his mouth. Trailed by Copper Jack.

"Pony! Come look at this! WHAT has Jack got in his mouth? It's blue. I hope it's not a piece of one of Dad's themed sheds!"

Because, you know, we can't have Jack feasting on structures along Shackytown Boulevard until they're all gone.

"I'll go out and see what it is. Let me put some shoes on."

The Pony stepped out. Jack dropped his treasure, which was about the size of a roofing shingle, and charged at The Pony, dancing on his hind legs in excitement. The Pony patted him, then picked up the unknown chew-toy, held it aloft for me, and brought it up on the porch and SET IT ON THE METAL CHAIR IN FRONT OF THE WINDOW. He came back inside.

"He'll get that, you know. He can reach it. He'll just eat it some more."

"It looks like a piece of a plastic tub. It's blue."

"Oh, Dad DID mention something about Jack eating a whole storage tub, piece by piece."

"Yeah. It's not part of a shed."

"You can give him and Copper Jack a piece of that leftover pizza."

"No. I'm fine."

"I can't believe you! Jack was SO HAPPY for you to come out. And you can't even be bothered to toss him a treat."

Apparently, The Pony doesn't really care about helping people OR pets.

Water, Mother Nature's Scrub Brush

Remember that giant tree trunk that the county spent a lot of man-hours on, moving it from one side of the low water bridge to the other? Leaving those claw marks from the machinery that grabbed it? Here it was on December 5. 

 

 

It's been a constant on my drives to town. Always there. Until it wasn't.

We had a big rain Sunday night. The low water bridge was impossibly impassable for the whole day on Monday. The water level was 10-15 feet over the bridge. The county even came out with the yellow tape to block off the road. Not that we went that way. We can tell by the level of our own creek down by Mailbox Row when it would not be advantageous to attempt the regular route to town.

Tuesday, the flood had receded. I went the normal way, and found that tree gone!

 

Pardon my ratty masks. They're not blocking anything but a hard time from hard-core maskies. Anyhoo... you can see that there's no giant tree trunk in the creek. I even looked all the way down, as far as my eye and phone camera can see.

 

 

Nothing! That thing down there in the middle is not big enough. The water was up over those banks. Mother Nature sure can do some heavy lifting!

A Case Of 30-DAYja Vu

Perhaps you recall the concept of MO Money Monday. The day that Missouri Lottery releases new scratcher tickets. They don't list them online until after midnight on the Sunday night before Monday. Stores can put them out then. You can see a list of prizes that have been paid. So there are either people standing in convenience stores waiting to get the new tickets after midnight (I'm not THAT addicted), or else some naughty proprietors are selling them early, and the results get reported as the new tickets go online. Though how stores could get their new tickets early is BEYOOOOND me!

Anyhoo... I had looked up the new tickets (I AM up after midnight, you know). I told The Pony the next morning, and had plans to buy a couple while in town around 2:30.

REEEEEEEE!!!

There goes my vintage phonograph record again! Mrs. Hillbilly Mom plans, The Universe laughs. 

As I walked to the counter of the Gas Station Chicken Store, magical elixir in hand, I saw that the Man Owner was puttering around back there. A young guy walked in the door and stood back.

 

"You can go ahead."

 

"No. You go." He turned to use the bathrooms that are now open again.

 

The new guy waited on me. The ticket-holding counter was slid out from the glass case.

"Oh, do you have your new tickets?"

"Well. We DO. But Man Owner [he had since headed to the office in the back] brought out the wrong tickets."

"Oh. Well. I'll get some tomorrow. I don't want to make anybody wait."

The polite bathroom guy was out, waiting behind me. If he had only gone ahead, the new tickets might have been brought up front, and nobody would be waiting for me to complete my transaction.

This is the second month in a row that the tickets have been delayed. The Gas Station Chicken Store used to have them out before 10:30 a.m. So obviously their delivery person, a state employee, is getting them there late.

Sweet Gummi Mary! Is it too much to ask that we get the MO Money Monday tickets on MONDAY? I feel like Hillmomba is becoming a 4th world country!