You might recall that one day last week, I spent an unpleasant interlude bent over the marital bed, using tweezers to remove tiny ticks from the region normally covered by Farmer H's tighty-whities. Yes. You're quite welcome for me putting that imagine into your brain again.
At least it's only your brain that hurts. My back has not been the same since that surgical-precision plucking session. As my mom might have termed it, "I'm down in my back." The spasm comes and goes. Not a big deal. Not enough to incapacitate me so that I cannot procure my daily 44 oz Diet Coke. Still, the aggravation is something that I avoid, until I think my back has had time to recuperate.
As you know, avoiding any kind of aggravation is quite difficult at the Mansion. I think it might have been a couple days after I was drenched by the power-washer that I again ventured out on the porch to talk to Farmer H. It was the day that Jack swam in the fake fish pond and shook his algae-water onto Farmer H's bare legs, perhaps.
Anyhoo... Farmer H was standing in the rocks by the fake fish pond, with his little brush barely wider than an artist might use, painting stain on the side-porch slats that he'd power-washed the day he almost killed me by accidentally power-washing ME as I put his glasses on top of Gassy G-Lite.
"I forgot something to set my stain on!" said Farmer H, holding a can as big as a party-size container of mixed nuts in his left palm, as he stained with his right. "Bring me that chair."
"What chair?"
"That gray one."
"The METAL chair?"
"Yeah."
"That is SO HEAVY!"
"No it's not."
"For you, maybe."
"It's not heavy."
"I move it back into place all the time to set my groceries on it! After you've messed with it to plop your butt in while barbecuing, or sitting on the porch doing nothing. It's heavy enough to slide across the wood. Even heavier to lift. It's METAL!"
"It's not THAT heavy."
Well. There's no changing the King of the World's mind once he makes a decree. I didn't dare suggest that I hand him one of the upholstered wooden chairs that have been sitting six feet away, side by side, for at least three years, accruing a patina of cat hair. Only the metal chair would do. I picked it up.
YIKES!
I had to lift that metal chair high enough to hand it over a portion of Gassy G-Lite, then over the porch rail, then lower it down far enough so Farmer H could reach up and grab it while standing on the rocks around the fake fish pond. I felt a twinge in my back as I was dangling the chair into space.
You realize that I might have herniated a disc. At the very least, strained a muscle. Which could lead to me being bedridden for 20 years like Charlie Bucket's Grandpa Joe and Grandma Josephine, and Grandpa George and Grandma Georgina. Being bedridden, I could develop a bedsore. Which could get infected. Possibly with an antibiotic-resistant bacteria. Which COULD KILL ME!
Yeah. He's got a million ways to kill, that Farmer H.
4 comments:
I know what I would have done. I would have walked around and down to where Farmer H was standing, and offered to hold the can and brush while HE lifted the heavy metal chair into position. That's what I would have done. When my back is hurting I don't lift anything bigger than a cereal bowl.
I hope your back is feeling better soon. Mine is a bit iffy right now, I must have pulled a muscle trying to roll over in bed and not disturb the cat at the same time.
River,
Sorry about your back. I hope Lola appreciates your sacrifice!
My back is in better shape than my knees, so the thought of walking around the garage and the carport, and down across the uneven turf of the back yard, then stepping up on the stacked flat rocks that border the gravel of the fish pond area... does not seem like a good alternative for me!
Never would have happened here. HeWho would have been too busy making a big mess, trying to figure out a way to spray that stain on.
Kathy,
That was the original plan. Farmer H tried the sprayer while I was in town. On a really windy day. And declared that it wasted too much stain.
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