Farmer H, jack-of-all-trades, has a new tool to clip on his belt. He's a psychic!
At first, I thought Farmer H was simply up to his old shenanigans. Namely, accusing me of being senile/inattentive/addled/a liar. That's his modus operandi. If something happens that might put him in a bad light, he flips the script to it being Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's fault. Because life is all about blaming the love of your life, your partner in kids, your chief cook and platewasher, for your own senility/inattentiveness/addlebrainedness/deafness.
On his way out the door to work Friday morning, Farmer H said, "So you say your Change Oil light is on?"
"No. Why would I say that? When did I say that? When do you THINK I said that? Because I didn't. My Change Oil light is not on."
"You told me it was."
"No. Because it isn't."
"You don't remember half of what you tell me."
"You make up twice what you think I tell you."
"Whatever. I was going to get it changed Saturday morning when I get a haircut."
"You aren't working Saturday morning?"
"No. Since I'm having that surgery Tuesday, I told them I needed to get a few things in order."
"Well, my oil isn't one of them."
"Whatever."
Farmer H left for work. The Pony got up and went through his morning routine. We left the #1 son a-snoozin', though claiming he was awake. We patted Juno on the head, piled into T-Hoe, and backed out of the garage. "You're never going to believe this. My dash says, 'Change engine oil soon.' Right there where the mileage should be. Where the mileage has been every day, right up until this morning. What a coincidence that Dad said I told him to change my oil. Did I ever mention anything about changing the oil?"
"Nope."
"I suppose this means your dad is psychic."
"I hope not."
"Yeah. That makes two of us."
4 comments:
I would say more "psycho" than "psychic." My theory: he started up your car--unbeknownst to you--and saw the indicator. He now is trying to drive you to the brink of crazy (and beyond) so he can have all the family riches--the livestock, the rolling, fertile hills, the many outbuildings--to himself and your sons. An estrogen free zone, is what he's plotting...
He could have his own hot-line ...... for vehicles that need oil changes, for those folks who detest that annoying message lighting uo the dash.
Hehe!
Sioux,
Yes. I sense a conspiracy. But he seemed so certain that I had told him about it. And he's not a very good liar. And it would take effort, and time away from his menagerie to get in my car and start it.
The estrogen-free zone is a definite pipe dream of his. So much so that I need to submit an essay somewhere cutting-edge about his misogynistic shenanigans.
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Kathy,
That's Farmer H. A regular public-service kind of psycho hotline...
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labbie,
You laugh. Until it happens to you.
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