The Butt Stops Here

Farmer H took The Pony out for lunch on Saturday. Time is running out on his visit, and we have to cram in all the activities we can. Since there's not much else to do around here, dining out is what's in.

Farmer H had a gift card for Texas Roadhouse, given to him by some employees when he retired back in August. Since we don't have a Texas Roadhouse in the Hillmomba city limits, that gift card has been languishing on Farmer H's side of the double-mirrored dresser in the master bedroom. When we pass a Texas Roadhouse on the way to the casino, Farmer H has suggested that we have lunch there. However, we used his Cracker Barrel gift card first, and I've been enjoying the burgers at the casino, so Texas Roadhouse was a couple of steaks ahead.

The Pony likes steak. AND a good baked potato, butter only. He got cheated out of one when we took him out to eat for Thanksgiving, that restaurant we went to in Norman, Oklahoma, having run out of baked potatoes after we ordered. I told Farmer H that since I was busy getting Christmas dinner food ready, he should just take The Pony to have steak. The Pony agreed.

Here's the deal. Farmer H was a bit under the weather. So complainy was he that one might have thought he was six feet under the weather. He said his back hurt. On the side. Over his hip. He could barely get around, wincing and groaning, declaring that he didn't know what he could have done to his back. That it was fine when he went to bed, but when he got up, he could hardly move. Could hardly stand the pain.

Quizzing him did not much good, but only seemed to put hypochondriatic ideas in his head. At the time they left Texas Roadhouse, The Pony sent me a text. "We were going to look at some Goodwills, but Dad's back is hurting too much, so we're coming home."

"If it hurts that much, he needs to go to Urgent Care."

"He called, but they said they were just closing, but they'll be opening at 9:00 tomorrow morning."

"On Christmas Eve? Good luck with that. You know how they never even go by their regular schedule. I've take you there a couple times, and their door was locked."

"I know. But that's what he says. He thinks he might have a kidney infection. Or kidney stones. He's trying to remember what that felt like."

"If it was kidney stones, he'd KNOW it was kidney stones."

Anyhoo...Farmer H came home and collapsed in the La-Z-Boy. He said he'd go to Urgent Care. I told him I remember him going to the ER when he said his throat was closing up (viral sore throat, not even medicine), and when he had a brain tumor (ear infection, antibiotic). Farmer H said he didn't want to go to the ER. That they'd do a bunch of tests.

"Well, I don't know what you want them to do, then. You can't take pain medicine."

"I know. It makes me sick. I don't want none of that. I guess I just want to know that there's nothing wrong with me."

You don't know how hard it was for me to resist a comment.

Anyhoo...Farmer H said even the area under his butt where he pulled something when he tripped carrying a table at the auction was sore again. So I said he probably has strained a muscle. That if it was a kidney stone, no amount of movement would make it comfortable. Or hurt more. But since it hurt more when he moved, and especially when he coughed, it was something muscular. Farmer H sat on a heating pad and said it felt better. Funny how at 6:30, Farmer H declared that he was going to the auction. I guess that was a pretty miraculous recovery.

When he got up on Sunday morning, he said it was a little better. So he wasn't going to Urgent Care. Then as the day went on, it hurt him more. But he still made it okay to the Christmas Eve party at my sister the ex-mayor's wife's house.

Christmas Day, Farmer H said his back was a little better. He got testy (heh, heh, I said testy) with me and said to quit saying his butt hurt. It was his BACK! Down where his buttocks are. We sat down to Christmas Dinner, and we'd hardly begun when Farmer H left the table. He returned to tell us that he threw up. That he was cold. His hands were shaking.

I don't know what's going on with him, but all he had to eat (HE SAYS) were six JELLYBEANS right after we unwrapped presents. Jelly Belly Krispy Kreme flavored jellybeans. And, he said, he took one bite of a bacon-wrapped green bean bundle, and he thought he wasn't going to make it to the bathroom to vomit. Uh huh. Farmer H is a stellar conversationalist at the holiday dinner table.

Anyhoo...Farmer H had declared only the day before that he did not like the green bean bundles, and that Genius could have all of them he wanted, because Farmer H prefers his bacon crispy, by cracky, and that limp bacon wrapped around the green beans is not to his tastes.

The mystery remains to what ails Farmer H. A container of Christmas candies and cookies was mysteriously taken to the BARn sometime between the unwrapping of presents and time for Christmas dinner. Farmer H is not supposed to have sugar. When quizzed on this, he did not deny eating anything else sugarful, nor admit to it, only stating that he took all his stuff over to the BARn, and that container of candy and cookies was in it, so he left it there.

The jury is still out. The judge and executioner are chomping at the bit to hear more evidence.