Mrs. HM Takes A Baby Step

Are you sitting down? Do so. But first get those smelling salts within reach. Brace yourself. 

MRS. HM STOOD UP FOR HERSELF!

Sure, it was not to an actual person, mind you. But to AI. Still, for once Mrs. HM was not content to just let things go after being taken. No siree, Bob! Not this time.

Here's the deal. I use powder after the shower. Especially in those crannies behind my knees, which get strapped into velcro wraps 23 hours a day. I don't want to take a chance of any moisture getting trapped there, causing an irrigation of skin-on-skin. I've used powder for years. Like in those areas that might get sweaty, like leg creases, or the underboob area. 

The powder I like is The Devil's own. Equate brand, Pure Cornstarch With Aloe. Though I'm not sure how it can be PURE cornstarch, if there's aloe. It used to come without. Anyhoo... my point is, no talcum for me. I don't care to be a participant in a cancer settlement with Johnson & Johnson.

You may recall that I haven't been in The Devil's Playground since around the end of 2021. My powder lasts a while. Then I had Farmer H pick it up for me. THEN he couldn't find it. Despite asking a worker, who also couldn't find it. That's when I bought it on Amazon.

I'm not out of powder yet. But I always like to have a backup. So a few weeks ago, I made an order from Amazon. All my other items showed up as promised, within a couple days. The powder said it would be here between June 15-23. I kept watching my emails to see if it was out for delivery. Nope. It was coming by USPS. So I figured it might take a couple extra days, due to our rural delivery.

June 23 came and went. Every time I tried to check the tracking provided, it only said the package was expected on June 23. Then after that passed, it said the package "was likely delivered on June 23." But that if I didn't have it by June 30, to contact the seller.

By July 1, I was mad as Not-Heaven, and not gonna take it anymore. Of course there was no way to contact the seller. I got in a loop, being given choices like:

late

damaged

wrong size

found it cheaper

not as described

There was no option to say it didn't arrive. And going to the item, then tracking, being told it was likely delivered on June 23. There was no way to get to the step-by-step tracking. I was exhausted from so much hoop-jumping. You're out of luck if you want to complain that you never got an item. Did I want to leave feedback? NO! What good would that do? It would not address my issue. Just be bitter venting.

Meanwhile, Farmer H went to the Devil's Playground for dogfood. He took a picture of my powder. Couldn't find it. Asked a worker. And it was RIGHT BESIDE HER HEAD! He got me two of them, though the 22 oz rather than the 15 oz that I wanted. Nothing like weightlifting a heavy powder for a workout after the shower.

Anyhoo... on Wednesday, before I left for leg therapy, I spent 25 minutes trying to work out my Amazon issue. And by some miracle, which I will never be able to repeat, I got a box to pop up so I could type with AI. I was able to state that my package ordered on June 4 that was supposed to arrive by June 23 was still not here by July 1. AI asked if I wanted them to ask the seller for a refund. YES!

While I was looking at my phone on the parking lot before going inside for therapy, I got an email from Amazon. 

I got $16.93 credited back to my credit card for my missing order, plus tax. Which is fine, because I paid with the credit card.

YAY, ME!

Farmer H Gets A Manly Pedi

Tuesday evening, I sat on the short couch, ripping off my velcro leg wraps, and peeling off the support stockings that trap my feet 23 hours a day. Farmer H was kicked back in the recliner in only tighty-whities, having just returned from his own shower. He rotated his ankles, admiring his feet. I hate feet, but Farmer H has amazingly tiny soft white feet.

"I got my monthly pedicure today."

He said as I was dealing with my snaggle-y toenails that grow like horse hooves, with the right big toenail still trying to fall off.

"That's nice. I'm happy just to let my feet breathe for an hour a day when I have a shower."

"I noticed when I went in the shop that their sign was dangling. While I was in the chair, I heard sirens. Then the fire marshal came in, and said, 'We can't let you stay open with this sign hanging. It could fall and hurt someone. It's a hazard. So you'll have to close until it's fixed.'"

"Huh. I hope they get it done in time for your next appointment."

"When I come back through later in the day, I seen that the sign was fixed. So they didn't waste no time. They had that area under it blocked off before, so people couldn't walk under it. But I can understand why they got shut down."

Farmer H leads a charmed life. The Universe is not going to allow him to miss a monthly pedicure.

Therapy Might Rub Some People The Wrong Way

Have I mentioned that I've been going to leg therapy for the last two months? Maybe just in passing. I certainly am not one to dwell on such things, heh, heh! It started on May 5 with a consultation and a session. Poor Farmer H drove me, and was waiting in the waiting room. Since it was just an assessment, I didn't think it would take long. But it was 90 minutes!

Anyhoo... I've been keeping my three times per week appointments, just recently reduced to two. For each session, I have to do an online check-in, during which I electronically sign a form stating that I am the responsible party to pay for any fees not covered by my insurance. Just the standard waiver that all medical facilities use.

Thursday on the way to the casino, I got a notice on YourChart that I had a bill. Well. I suppose that's not surprising. There's often a copay for medical visits, and I had received no bills to date. I can't access YourChart on my phone, because I can't get back to the screen that needs the security code they send. Someone more phone savvy, like The Pony, or perhaps a toddler, might be able to do it. The Pony could not, because we were out of internet range, and I said I'd do it back home.

When I logged in, I saw the amount due. I could NOT get an itemization of what the charges were for. It may be SOMEWHERE in YourChart, but I could not find it. I paid anyway, because I figured it was something to do with my therapy.

Monday, I got a paper statement from my hospital/clinic. It was the bill I had already paid through YourChart. But it had the itemized charges.

Well. That was a bit shocking! Let the record show that my appointments, except for the first, are for 60 minutes. I'm usually in and out in about 50-55 minutes. Only once, I went over by 5 minutes. I'm sure all the therapists use the last 10 minutes or so to document what was done, after the patient has left.

Each of my sessions goes the same way. I get called back, remove my velcro leg wraps (which were the short-stretch wraps in the beginning). Then I get on that hydraulic table/bed, and OT does the massage therapy on my legs. Except every couple of weeks, which begins with measurements, then the massage.

It looks like the billing is for EVERY 15 MINUTES! That's the best I can work out from the charges. An hour costs $792! That's $198 for every 15 minutes. That's $13.20 per minute! A more petty person might expect a HAPPY ENDING for such an expensive massage, heh, heh!

This is the problem with our healthcare system! Insurance bloats up those charges, then gets a negotiated discount. The fee for my one month of occupational therapy was $9,167.00. Which was negotiated down to $1,108.57. Of which my responsibility was $360.

I'm pretty sure OT does not reap the rewards of this scam in her salary.

Casino Road Tales: Barefoot And Petty

You'd think that being the only winner on this casino trip would have rendered Farmer H to a tolerable mellowness for the trip home. You'd be wrong. We were barely back on the interstate when I tried to make conversation.

"I only saw the last half of the new Alone show last night. I wish you'd told me it was on. It used to be Thursdays. So I was surprised."

"I didn't think of it. I started watching it, but it was nothing special."

"I don't know all the contestants. I'll have to look them up. I kind of like that New Zealand guy, in his 20s, but it bothered me that he kept walking around barefoot. That's just asking for trouble."

"He's like Cody, that barefoot partner with Bear Grylls."

"What? Bear Grylls never had a partner!"

"He did too! Him and that Cody guy who was always barefoot."

"No. Bear Grylls had a bunch of guest stars. It was HIS show. He never had a partner."

"I know you watched that show. Now you're saying he didn't go barefoot. He DID TOO!"

"First of all, you need to know what I said before you go yelling at me. The only "BEAR" I was denying was that Bear Grylls did not have a partner on his show!"

"Then what was the name of Cody's partner?"

"I don't know."

"SEE! You don't even know his partner, but you're saying it wasn't Bear Grylls."

"I don't know Cody's partner because he had more than one. The first guy left. So there were different shows with him."

Well. Farmer H's nose was out of joint. I guess because I couldn't prove the name of Cody's partner on his survival show. Or maybe because he was wrong about Bear Grylls, but wouldn't admit it. He didn't ask The Pony to look it up! And he refused to speak the rest of the way home. Then went to bed before 6:30, while I was in town. 

Farmer H is a petty, petty man. But came home the next day acting like none of this happened. You'd think by now I would have learned that no conversation with Farmer H goes unpunished.

Casino Road Tales: Bending Facts

Because Farmer H was driving, we listened to country music in A-Cad. It's usually on a local station, but we get out of range about halfway to the casino, so he switches to Prime Country on SiriusXM. That's okay. I know most of those songs, from the 80s/90s, back when I met Farmer H, and was forced to listen to them then. A Vince Gill song was playing.

"He's been around a long time. Who was he with in the beginning? It was a folk/country band. I think it was Pure Prairie League. I'm pretty sure."

"No. That's not it. I know what you're talking about. But it wasn't Pure Prairie League. It was someone else. I think it was the Eagles."

"Vince Gill was NOT a member of the Eagles! He has sung with a lot of famous people over the years, but he was not in the Eagles."

"Look it up, Pony. Vince Gill in the Eagles."

"It says here that Vince Gill performed with the Eagles in 2017."

"See? I told you it was the Eagles!"

"He might have sang with them in 2017, but that's not what I asked. I want to know which band he started with, before he went solo. That was way before 2017. He was famous in the late 80s. I'm pretty sure it was Pure Prairie League. Pony! Look up Vince Gill and Pure Prairie League."

"Huh. He's from Norman, Oklahoma! He joined Pure Prairie League in 1979 and made them hit the Top 10. Then he went off on his own in 1981."

"There. I thought so. Pure Prairie League."

"It said he was in the Eagles!"

"Again, not my question."

Farmer H likes to think he knows everything. And when he doesn't, he bends the facts until it seems like he does.

Casino Road Tales: Always In The Wrong

I'm sure you know by now that Mrs. HM is always wrong. Anything proclaimed by Farmer H is the absolute truth. It's his world, and Mrs. HM is allowed to reside in it for the fee of supper dished out every night, and saving him from his self-destructive ways that are perfectly logical to him and anyone else in his world besides Mrs. HM.

We were barely off our gravel road. Maybe five miles from home, still on winding too-narrow blacktop. Farmer H and The Pony were having a conversation about The Pony offering to bring a pitcher of ice water to Lap House when Farmer H is working there. And Farmer H summarily dismissing the offer, without even a THANK YOU, by saying, "Nah. I have water there, and the refrigerator still works." Despite having had no electricity there for the past month, which just got hooked up this week.

Anyhoo... Farmer H was tooling along in A-Cad, gawking at sights along the way, making eye contact with The Pony in the rearview mirror. And we were consistently ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD! Not just going down the middle. ON THE WRONG SIDE! On this narrow blacktop road with twists and turns and hills.

"Can we drive on our side of the road?"

"Mom!"

"I'm just asking, because I'm afraid I might die when something comes over the next hill."

"Just be quiet and ride."

"Oh. So I'M the one who's wrong here?"

I really don't think that was out-of-line to ask Farmer H to obey the rules of the road, and allow me to stay in his world for a bit longer.

An Unfortunate Turn Of Events

Errand Day switched from Thursdays to Friday this week. We went to the casino on Thursday. Nothing to report about that. The Pony was having an out-of-town friend come for an afternoon visit Friday, so we planned our errands for noon. Then it all went to Not-Heaven in a handbasket.

Mid-morning, The Pony texted that the friend was having car trouble, and the visit was off. So we switched to 1:00 for the errands. 

Later-morning, The Pony texted that lower digestive system issues would be putting the kibosh on joining me for the errands.

I left an hour later, because I could. It was only about an hour earlier than our regular errand time.

Five miles from the Mansion, at the roundabout by the bowling alley, I got behind a semi truck that had just exited the highway. The back of the trailer was emblazoned with STUDENT DRIVER. I will say that the student took the roundabout swimmingly. Stayed in the lane, didn't run up on the fancy brickwork in the middle.

The Semi seemed to only have one speed. 20 mph. As if there were no other gears available. When the speed limit was 35, we went 20. When the speed limit was 45, we went 20. When the speed limit was 20, we went 20. That dang truck was going my way. ALL the way. I know where the parking lot is where they practice parking. I would be going right by it on my way to get gas at Casey's.

I could take no more! I changed my course, to avoid a stop at a stop sign, and waiting for the student driver to find that 20 mph gear again. I took a detour down past the middle school near Bargain House and Cheap House. Ironically, the speed limit through there is 20 mph.

I went to Country Mart first. No issues there!

THEN it was time for T-Hoe's gas. I chose Pump 4, because the last three times we've been there, Pump 3 (the only one available those times, near the handicap walkway) was having issues. Like you can't click the automatic notch on the nozzle, becaue it keeps turning itself off. And you can't even stand and hold the nozzle handle to pump, because it does the same thing, no matter how much you lighten your grip pressure. It takes FOREVER to squeeze out $50 worth of gas. Which is just slightly over half a tank for T-Hoe.

The minute I stepped out from under the gas pump roof to walk inside, rain started falling. Heavier and heavier. In fact, when I got inside, the clerks commented on that sudden downpour. Like, where did it come from? That rain was even heavier when I had to go back to T-Hoe to pump the gas. There was no option to wait. The pump shuts off in a few minutes, and you have to go back inside and tell them to turn it on again, reminding them that you already paid. I had to trudge through the downpour. It was wetter than a shower!

I put the nozzle of Pump 4 into T-Hoe's tank, and discovered that Pump 4 has the same problem as Pump 3! It took over 10 minutes to get my $50 of paid gas into the tank. At least I was under a roof. Which really didn't matter by then, because a couple minutes after I got back to the pump, the rain ceased to fall.

The drive to the Gas Station Chicken Store was chilly. I was soaked through. The worst part was my feet, in their mesh shoes, in my regular socks over support socks, all dripping wet. I tried blowing the air at 78 degrees, but it was still cold to me.

Once home, I stripped off the soaking clothes, and decided I might as well have a hot shower. Which was at an odd time, but most logical.

My scratcher wins were less than my standard percentage. But you knew that, right?