You may
recall that Mrs. HM has been convalescing from a hole in her leg. It's
pretty much healed now. Just a tiny spot left that will ooze into a
bandage if squished overnight against a towel with which she protects
her bedding. During this healing period, Mrs. HM has been very careful
descending to her dark basement lair. Careful to hold onto, as long as possible, the
balusters that prevent one from tumbling over the edge of the living room into the basement, since Farmer H has still not installed the handrail he has
been planning down those 13 steps since building the house 22 years ago.
Anyhoo...not
wanting to overburden herself, nor make extra trips up and down such
stairs, Mrs. HM has pointedly announced over the past 10 days since
Stay-At-Home-Down was instituted:
"Next time you go downstairs, could you take this Diet Coke?"
Let
the record show that there are two six-packs of 20 oz bottles on the
kitchen table, for making daily Stay-At-Home-Down 40 oz Diet Cokes. The
backup bottles that had been in the basement and in the mini fridge were
used first, so the transport of this new supply was becoming crucial to
Mrs. HM's survival.
Saturday afternoon, Farmer H
returned from puttering around his Storage Unit Store. Nobody else was
there. It was not important for Farmer H to be out of the house. But he
was. Made a gun deal and earned a $75 profit. Not worth the risk, I say.
Even though tattlers may call the official reporting entity, the county
health center, no storm troopers are going to rush to punish Farmer H.
Anyhoo...I had not yet showered. What's the point? I was watching She's All That when Farmer H plopped down on the long couch, suspiciously close to the leftover Easter candy.
"I'm going over to the BARn to piddle around."
"I'm going to have a shower, then take some lunch downstairs. I guess I'll have sardines."
"I had a burger in town."
"I
guess I'll have hot soda that will melt my ice too fast. Since nobody
has carried down the Diet Coke I've been asking about all week."
"AHA! Have you been downstairs?"
"No. Not today. I haven't even had a shower yet. Did you take it down this morning before you left?"
"Yes. So you have cold soda."
"Did you put it in the mini fridge?"
"No."
"Then
how will it be cold? The time I needed it for that to happen was last
night. Before I came up. I always put two in the mini fridge. So it's
cold for the next day."
"It's down there!"
"Not in time! I don't know why you can't understand that. Doing it at the last minute doesn't help me for today."
Darn
that Farmer H. I appreciate him carrying my soda downstairs. But he has
been down there several times since I started asking. For the same
reason he went down this morning: to get money out of the safe to buy a
gun to resell within 15 minutes. So he didn't make a special trip down
there just for ME.
Besides, there was his GOTCHA attitude about having carried my Diet Coke at the last minute, without telling me.
He redeemed himself, though. As I got up to go shower, he went down to put away his gun-running money. Upon return, he said
"There. I put two in the refrigerator. You'll have cold soda."
AHA! It takes more than 30 minutes to get cold...
3 comments:
I'm still gasping over the "no handrail" tidbit.
You and I are of similar age. I ALWAYS use the handrail. (Yes, I shouted that word.) Once, I almost did a cartwheel down the stairs. certainly, I would not have gotten a 9.5 on it. The only thing that saved me--the handrail.
Perhaps Farmer H needs to have a near mishap, to make him a believer in the value of a handrail...
Weeeell, thirty minutes IS better than none, and you can drop in some ice cubes to cool it further, so I'd just accept the situation as-is this time. You might even say thank you, that should surprise him.
I am wondering why he only put two in the fridge though, not all of them.
Sioux,
I can't go down any steps without a handrail. At the casinos, I make Farmer H stand where I can grab his shoulder to get down off a curb. Going up is a little easier, but not much.
Going down these stairs, I grasp each succeeding baluster like a monkey bar, until I get down to the 8th step. Then I have to switch my magical elixir and other treats to my right hand, and balance on the ceiling part of the lower steps, then the metal post that supports the ceiling, to get down the lower five. Believe me, I have a routine. I'm usually hearing my mom's voice, telling me, "Honey, you be careful going down those steps when nobody else is home."
You are wise to forego your cartwheel dreams, and hold onto the rail. Fame is fleeting, even for a 9.5 cartwheel.
***
River,
I DID thank him for putting two in the mini fridge. Only two, because Farmer H never does anything extra, and I'd told him I put in two a day. So that was as much as he was willing to help, I suppose.
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