Farmer H Gets Served

The Pony made tacos on Wednesday.

They were chicken tacos. According to The Pony, the ingredients were chicken, garlic, red onion, rice, and refried beans, with some hot sauce.

The Pony ate two tacos. Put the others in a baggie, and froze most of it. The plan is to thaw it out for a few meals when desired.

Farmer H was there mowing the yard. 

"I offered Dad one, since he was mowing while I was eating. But he only wanted ice water."

Indeed, Farmer H had already told me that The Pony brought out ice water, and offered him a taco. "I didn't want it, because I was so hot from mowing the yards. Besides, I'd had liver and onions at the Senior Center for lunch, so I was full."

Farmer H was happy, though. For the fact that The Pony came out to offer anything.

Dang! I Should Have Held Onto It!

Look what I found in the bottom of my purse this week:

STAMPS! From 2018. There were actually two, but I had already put one on the water bill for Lap House. Then I put this one on our three-month trash pickup bill.

DANG IT! I should have kept that last one, at least. I had first asked The Pony if they were still valid. Even though they are FOREVER stamps, I didn't want my bills boomeranging back to me, and then being late. The Pony said it was fine. They are FOREVER stamps.

Well. The price of a first-class stamp back in 2018 was 50 cents. The price today is 78 cents. Which will go up to 82 cents on July 12. Had I waited to use my last 2018 stamp after July 12, I would have saved 32 cents when I mailed my bill. Rather than the mere 28 cents I saved yesterday.

Gosh! Maybe I should have sunk a whole lot of money into stamps back in 2018. After July 12, I'd be getting a 64 percent return on my investment!

I need to go buy stamps before July 12.

That Tide Ebbed Sooner Than Expected

My laundry detergent is Tide. It's a family thing. My mom always used Tide. Until one week she didn't, and my ankles broke out in a rash. Just the area covered by my white crew socks I wore for volleyball practice. It took a couple weeks to figure out it was a reaction to a new detergent. I can't remember what Mom switched to. Maybe ALL. Or CHEER. Something on sale. Never to be bought again!

Anyhoo... the Mansion is a Tide house. Specifically, Tide with Bleach. The powder. The Pony uses Tide Pods. Has since college. More convenient then, and he developed the habit. Thing is, powdered Tide is harder to find these days. Farmer H gets it for me at the Devil's Playground. He often messes up and gets the regular version, without the built-in bleach. It works just as well, but I figure it doesn't brighten the clothes as much.

Anyhoo... you might recall how I needed a bleachless detergent for washing my leg wraps, and now my support stockings and velcro wraps. Of all the times for Farmer H to have just bought a new box of Tide WITH Bleach, heh, heh. No mistakes laying around to use on my precious bleachless accessories. But on an Errand Day with The Pony, we found Tide (without bleach) in little square "packets." 

I don't know what they're called, but these "packets" feel like they have a terrycloth surface. They're about three inches square. They come in a flip-top box, two rows, lined up like soapy square cookies. I have them sitting to the left of the washer. You just drop one in as the water is filling. Easier than the not-so-hard task of taking the powdered Tide box off the shelf overhead, and dipping out half a scoop.

Also, I love the fragrance on these Tide packets. I suppose it will forever remind me of the summer of leg-wrapping, heh, heh. I save those packets for my non-bleach accessories. I use the regular powdered Tide for everything else. For the past couple of accessory-washings, it seemed like my Tide packets were running out quickly. In fact, I bought two more boxes of them, because they are also hard to find. Country Mart is the only place I've seen them.

A few nights ago, I was scratching my lottery tickets when I sensed a familiar smell. I didn't think anything of it. Maybe I just got a whiff of my fresh socks when I had changed from town shoes to Crocs. I vaguely sensed on the periphery that Farmer H was doing his laundry (!!!), coming back and forth to the laundry room to check on the dryer. 

By the time my distracted mind put all these clues together, Farmer H was in bed. Interrogation had to wait until 5:45 a.m. When Farmer H was sitting on the long couch, next to a pile of underwear and socks which he had not yet folded.

"What did you use to wash your clothes?"

"Tide."

"WHICH Tide?"

"Tide."

"Like we always use? From the box on the shelf?"

"Uh. No. Them things you got there."

"MY PACKETS? I knew I smelled it! WHY would you do that? I told you when I got them that I found them for my wraps and socks. Because they can't have bleach, or they won't be stretchy. If there's anything that NEEDS bleach, it's your UNDERWEAR! So WHY are you using my packets?"

"I don't know. They was just there."

"DON'T USE THEM! They're only meant for a medium load anyway. And you fill that washer to the top. Use the regular Tide with Bleach for your stuff, just like always!"

"Okay. I didn't know."

How could he not know??? In fact, he just bought us a new box of the Tide with Bleach a couple weeks ago. I'm sure he doesn't want to open it to scoop some into the smaller box we keep on the shelf. Again, not such a hard task. But something a lazy man would not want to do. He's probably been using my packets for the last three or four times he did laundry. Multiple loads.

This is why we can't have long-lasting stretchy things...

The Bad-Parker Magnet Was Extra Powerful

Remember last week, when Mrs. HM was almost mowed down by a little black sports car that insisted on PARKING in the striped handicap walkway? That wasn't the only rumpushole parker Mrs. HM encountered that day.

Over at the Gas Station Chicken Store, she returned to T-Hoe to find:

A delivery truck parked in the driving lane. Essentially blocking her in, except the FREE AIR parker left, creating an exit to the back alley.

I'm sure that delivery driver considered ME to be the one in the wrong. How dare an unstable old lady park her handicap-placard-enabled T-Hoe in the lone handicap parking space!

This driver is here every week. At times, I've driven over to the 10Box parking lot, to await this space becoming available again. I don't know what this guy delivers, but it's in small boxes. He has a two-wheel dolly that he loads them on, and wheels them inside. Last time, he was parked there for 30 minutes. At least from the time I got there, then waited. There's a clear view from 10Box.

He had already loaded his empty dolly back into the back of the truck. Spent another 15 minutes sitting in the truck. I call shenanigans! Whatever he was doing while sitting could have been done anywhere on that parking lot. Also, there are plenty of other places for him to park for delivery.

The other side of the store has five spaces that are equidistant to the door as this handicap space. He could park alongside the moat. That would increase his distance to the door by about 20 feet. Not insurmountable. He's wheeling a DOLLY! The lot is paved and smooth. I don't know why he "must" park in the only handicap space. And linger. 

Too bad, so sad. I got there first this day. So rather than inconveniencing handicap parkers, he inconvenienced the dump truck drivers and fire department vehicles that use the diesel pump that he had blocked. 

Such a simple solution. Park a few feet farther away. 

Mrs. HM Has Been Jilted!

OT wants to see other people! Can you believe it? She didn't go so far as to say, "It's not you. It's me." But I'm pretty sure that's her sentiment.

As I was leaving on Friday, OT said that we are still waiting on my leg pumps that I must use for an hour a day to maintain all the work she has done in shrinking my legs. My insurance is the slowest one, according to the pump rep who met with me during my second week of therapy. The documents have been submitted, but approval is pending. Let the record show that my treatment was scheduled to run from May 5 to July 29.

"I don't want to release you yet, because what if the pumps take two months to get here? Then you could be all swollen again. But with your progress, I don't really have to see you three times a week now. We could cut it down to two."

"Okay. Does it matter which days? Should we drop Wednesdays?"

"It would probably be better to drop Fridays. It's my short day. With that opening, I could see more people."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Was it something I did? Yes. Apparently. I responded quickly to OT's treatment. It's only fair that I drop one day a week from OT's schedule. I remember how long it took me to get an appointment. I don't hold this against OT. We will still be (working) friends on those two days a week.

Breaking up is hard to do.

Just One More Reason She's My Favorite

When I entered the Gas Station Chicken Store on Friday, there was only one other customer. He was a bearded man in a red plaid kilt, with a cast from wrist to bicep on his right arm. He was having trouble sliding his card through their portable card-scanner.

"I can't do it."

"Yes you can."

"I've only got one arm, GIRLFRIEND!"

"All you have to do it tap it right there... BOYFRIEND!"

That's when it dawned on me that this was actually Fave's boyfriend, he who fell off a roof and broke his wrist last weekend. At the time, the news-bearer said it was his wrist, but it definitely involved an arm. I guess with only the use of one hand, a kilt is practical. Though I don't know if he otherwise wears one or not.

Anyhoo... she told him I'm the "nice lady" who brings her scatchers every Thursday. He said, "Oh, so YOU'RE the one responsible for all those tickets littering the car."

"Yes. That's me. Enabling the habit."

I don't think he held it against me. When he left, Fave said that she won $60 this week. Which included a $50 winner on a $5 crossword. Which means I just missed a $50 winner, heh, heh. Because when I buy hers, it's always the second one after I buy my own. I'm glad Fave won it. I've had my own luck this past week.

Anyhoo... as she was getting my scratchers, Fave said:

"Have you lost weight? You look thin today."

I had to laugh. You know me, quite the jokester. Fave sensed it right away, what I was about to say. "Oh! I didn't mean it like that! That sounded bad, didn't it? I just meant that I really noticed it today..."

"Not a problem. Yes, I have. It's something I've been working on for two years now. I take it as a compliment."

"I feel so bad. Really. I didn't mean it to sound that way. Me and my big mouth."

"It's fine. Don't worry. I'm not offended."

A couple guys came in to pay for gas, and I left with my tickets. I was in T-Hoe, writing on the back of them, when Fave came out the side door by the propane tanks. I put my window down.

"I just wanted to come out and apologize."

"I told you, it's fine! I won't hold it against you, heh, heh! Your tickets are safe!"

"Okay. I just wanted to make sure. I would never say anything to hurt your feelings."

"They're not hurt! It was a compliment for me. We're fine."

Heh, heh. I can't wait to tell Fave on Saturday that I won't be there Sunday, because of The Pony coming out for Father's Day. Maybe I'll say, "I won't be here Sunday. I'll be home gaining weight."

It will be fun to have something to rib her about. But I won't touch her boyfriend's kilt... that might offend her.

Maybe Not A Brainiac

This Shaver adventure has made Mrs. HM question her intelligence! After all, she's a former VALedictorian, who has reproduced two valedictorian offspring. Yet all it took was a tiny Chinese shaver to make a fool of her! AS IF a normal person would know which side was up, and which side was down. Surely I'm not the only person to mistake a reading of 100% for a reading of %001. Well... maybe I AM.

I was ready to call that purchase a loss. I'd learned my lesson about buying on-sale Chinese merchandise from Amazon. I would search again, and try a domestic shaver with good reviews, at a moderate price. Of course, Farmer H, in his annoying way, had to say:

"Walmart probably sells them."

DUH! Do you think? Never mind that I haven't stepped foot in the Devil's Playground since I came home from my Unfortunate HospitVALzation after a 4-day stay for pneumonia. At first I was just too weak. But as I grew stronger, so did my resolve to not play into the Devil's hands. I was mad about their approach to The Virus, with the cattle chutes out front, forcing a zig-zag extra-long walk just to get inside. And then the one-way aisles. Which Farmer H said he just ignored. But which I pulled my cart down backwards, lest I be spotted on surveillance, and this transgression added to my Permanent Record.

"I haven't been in there in four years, and I'm not starting now! YOU can get me a shaver, then."

I said to the man who could not find my lotion there, even though I sent him with a picture on his phone, and he consulted a clerk for help. Thank the Gummi Mary that he got my little Shaver fixed. Who knows what kind of contraption he might have brought home. Probably some sheep-shearing clippers. Or Edward Scissorhands himself (since I caught Farmer H watching this movie the other day when his MeTV channel was missing).

Yes, my intellect has been insulted by a tiny shaver. It brings back unfond memories of my first day of teaching, in Mountain Grove, Missouri, when I wrote my name on the board, along with my subject, for all my new students to see:

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom

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