Trapped Like An Old Bat In A Lair

Sweet Gummi Mary! I think I'm having a stroke! My head is about to explode, or at least force my eyes out of their sockets like one of those Bug Out Bob squeezy stress dolls!

Let the record show that Mrs. HM does not enjoy variations in her routine. Furthermore, she is not... how you say... a people person. I'm perfectly happy making my limited human contact to purchase a 44 oz Diet Coke and scratchers every day. That's all I need, so that no moss grows on me, and spiders don't anchor their webs to my face.

Farmer H, however, is a gadabout. He never met a person he didn't want to spend all day telling his life story to. It has been difficult to reach a congenial medium. He goes out into the world every day and does his thing. I stay home and do mine. Jack Sprat and wife, apportioning the fat.

Farmer H's brother lives in a state out west. He worked in security at Circus Circus for many years, and then became an over-the-road truck driver, accompanied by his wife. They have grown children. Last year, a medical problem sidelined the truck driver. Last week, Farmer H said that the wife and family were coming to Missouri for a visit, to see her family in the middle of the state. As part of their vacation, they were traveling to our side and taking in the sights.

We both knew that I was not interested in these touristy excursions. Farmer H was fine with that, just as I was with him spending a week driving around with them. Caves and a flooded mine and the Mississippi and childhood homes. Not a problem.

Farmer H said he was bringing them out to visit. More likely, so he could show off his stuff. They've only visited us once before, back when we had my $17,000 house in town. It's not like we're close. Oh, we're there to loan money when needed, and it gets paid back. But it's not really a social relationship with yearly get-togethers.

I really don't like people, you know. Or people in my house. Farmer H said it would be fine, they'd just stop by for a few minutes to see me, then he'd do his outside tour. Oh, did I mention that there were 7 of them?

"We don't even have places for 7 people to sit! Well, maybe 7, but then you and I would have to stand!"

"It's okay, HM. Three of them are kids. Only four adults. It's not for long."

"Do you want me to clean up the house?"

"No. They know a house is lived in. They won't be here that long."

"Well, I'll at least have to clear my CasinoPalooza unpacked suitcase off the long couch. I'm waiting for you to bring in my black bag from the A-Cad's trunk. The one I keep my shampoo and stuff in."

"Yeah, you can move that."

"And I'll have to move the throw pillows so there's sitting room."

"Yeah. That's fine."

"What about the bathroom you use? Is it even clean?"

"Yes. I cleaned it. In case they have to go."

Good thing I checked it, and wiped up all the dried pee drops he'd left!

Anyhoo... Farmer H was good about keeping me appraised of their whereabouts, so I'd know when to come upstairs and greet them, rather than disrupting my lair routine for several hours of waiting. After all, they were 2.5 hours late to meet Farmer H in town for their activities.

The ETA was 6:30. Which is pretty much supper time around here. Except that they all went to CiCi's Pizza. So I figured I'd make my appearance, chat without sitting, then escape back to my lair. Since I didn't want to be cooking or carrying a tray of supper past them, I dropped down a Devil's Playground bag with some cheese and dill pickles. I already have a box of Roasted Garlic Triscuits in my lair. Oh, and to be comfortable, I also dropped down a bag of lair-wear to change into, after greeting them in my go-to-town clothes. The bags landed on Genius's old computer desk at the bottom of the stairs, next to my bottles of Diet Coke waiting for the mini fridge.

To be clear, the Mansion was in no way in any shape to host company. I would not have held a holiday meal in it with The Pony and Genius and Friend. Wednesday morning, I thought about cleaning up. Then I saw Farmer H's hoard of soda and snacks on the kitchen table, and stuff he has piled on the table next to the La-Z-Boy, and I thought, Why should I clean up if he has no intention of picking up HIS stuff? So I only cleared away his three losing scratchers from the coffee table, and picked up the packing tape from The Pony's last care package, and put a couple jars away from the cutting block into the pantry. No sweeping or dusting or de-cluttering. After all, Farmer H said they'd only be inside a few minutes. Not a big deal.

Did I mention that I'm having a stroke? I was ready when they arrived and milled around on the front porch petting the dogs. Standing behind the short couch, to be congenial and converse a few moments. Silly me! I expected them to walk in and file into the living room corral and sit down. They did not.

Those three kids ran across the living room and into the kitchen. Like it was Grandfather's Mansion at Silver Dollar City! It's just a house, kids. Nothing to see here. They found that out, and were back and turning towards the boys' bathroom before the adults were even all the way inside. Kicked the scale next to FRIG II on the way. The clatter did nothing to slow them down. I'll be gosh-darned if the adults didn't come in, smile and speak to me, bypass the couches, and turn towards the boys' bathroom behind the kids! They were like the marching band in Animal House, going down that alley and piling up at the wall! And not a single one of them had to use the bathroom. I declare, I thought for a moment they were going to throw open the doors of Genius's and The Pony's bedrooms to look inside!

So you'd think they'd come back to the living room and sit down, wouldn't you? Au contraire! Those kids wormed their way through the adult bodies and rounded the railing and started down the basement steps! No way was that part of the visit! Not according to Farmer H. At no time did he say he was doing a grand tour of the Mansion. There's no handrail on the steps, so Farmer H had to rush and grab the youngest boy before he fell and permanently disabled himself. I was in shock. The adults traipsed down right after them!

Within 10 seconds, I heard pounding on the keys of my grandma's out-of-tune piano that used to be in the old elementary school I attended, so old it had wooden stairways, cloakrooms, radiator heat, and transoms above the doors! Oh, the adults cautioned the children to stop. Every time they went back to pounding. They meant well. I shuddered to think about them rushing into my lair. I hollered to Farmer H to stay out and turn off the light. He said he would.

Good thing I had swept the NASCAR bathroom, cleaned the toilet, and taken out the trash. I guess I was psychic. I KNOW Farmer H took them in there. It's his pride and joy. If he had only told me it was going to be on the tour, I would have scrubbed the sink of my red cherry limeade stains and lime pulp around the drain.

I was nearly apoplectic with the thought of all 7 of them running amok near my lair! I had to go into the master bathroom, carefully shutting the bedroom and bathroom doors behind me, actively contemplating LOCKING them, lest I be barged in upon. I was only in there two minutes or less. When I came out, the whole crew was shuffling through the front door, headed outside.

"Oh. I guess you're taking the outside tour. Good to meet you."

One turned around and said she was glad to see me again. Then they were blessedly gone. But not really! I got my bubba cup of ice and went downstairs, where the light in my lair was ON. As I sit here typing this now, feet are pounding around the porch. I think I heard a flush. It sounds like somebody is trying to come in the basement door, which Farmer H has locked with a slide lever thingy.

Here I am, trapped like an old bat in a lair. Having a near-stroke. Good thing it's my regular aspirin time.

It is currently 8:17, and I haven't heard any footsteps for five minutes. The storm may have passed. I don't mean to speak ill of Farmer H's marital relatives. I know they're good people. I'm just not a people person.