Saturday I did some shopping at Country Mart. Before I left home, I asked The Pony (by hollering through the closed door of his room, while he watches TV and listens to music in his earbuds while playing games on his laptop) if he wanted me to pick him up anything in Country Mart. The Pony answered, "No."
The Pony had informed me that he would be eating a lunch of something he'd bought on his last Devil's Playground trip, a microwave noodle dinner of sorts. So I only picked up myself a Dairy Queen lunch. My last stop was the Gas Station Chicken Store for my 44 oz Diet Coke. It was there that I received a text from The Pony.
2:35 Just now showering.
2:37 Leaving GSCS, headed home. Already have DQ.
We do this all the time. The Pony sets a timer to come out and help carry in groceries. Or lunch, if I've picked up something for him. So I can balance my purse and magical elixir, and myself, on my wobbly knees, going up the steps to the porch.
The trip home takes 10 minutes. Because The Pony had just entered the shower, I took my time. When I came down the driveway, I saw that SilverRedO was parked under the carport. So I knew that Farmer H was home from Storage Unit Store-ing.
2:53 Here now.
2:54 Still in shower.
Huh. That was not to my liking. The Pony had known I was going to the store. It's not my problem that he procrastinated over an hour after my departure, before getting in the shower. He's done that before, but rushed to get out in time for carrying.
2:54 Ok. I'll bring it in.
Of course I was a bit put-out at this development. Quite a bit put-out indeed. No old lady with wobbly knees should have to carry in her own groceries when she has a healthy 22-year-old and a Pop-Armed old man inside her Mansion. The Gator was also parked under the carport. So I knew that Farmer H was in the house, in the recliner, with a clear view of the driveway and T-Hoe's homecoming.
I commenced to carrying. I had 7 bags of groceries, including a bunch of 10 bananas, three bags of carrots, an unbagged bag of 10 lb of potatoes, a tub of I Can't Believe It's Not Butter, a jar of olives, and assorted other foodstuffs. It took a while.
No way was I going up and down those steps every time. When I carry in groceries (which I've not had to do since mid-May), I haul them to the side porch, and put them on a chair, then beside the chair when it's full. I close up T-Hoe and the garage, and go up the steps carrying my purse and magical elixir. Then I return to carry in the bags the rest of the way. The dogs are well-behaved and don't mess with my groceries, though I'd never leave anything like deli food sitting there waiting...
As I set down my purse and 44, I announced, not cheerfully, "There'd better not be anybody in here not-helping me with these groceries!" Not a sound. The TV was on some black and white old show, of the type Farmer H is wont to watch. Not on the Carnival Eats show I'd left it on. I went back and made several trips carrying in all the bags. Not a creature was stirring. Not even a louse.
"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU MADE ME CARRY IN ALL THESE GROCERIES BY MYSELF!"
"Huh? What? I was asleep in the chair." Said Farmer H. Probably unaware that I saw the TV was now on a colorful football game.
"Why didn't you say something? I didn't know you had groceries." Said The Pony. Out of the shower, completely dressed, not dripping, 'forgetting' that he had answered me when I asked if he'd wanted me to pick up anything for him while I was in the store.
How shocking that neither of them had noticed that I had arrived home, by way of the driveway, and texted I was there, yet had not appeared inside the Mansion for over 15 minutes.
Likely stories. My right knee has yet to recover from its extra weight-bearing duties. I'm pretty sure The Pony felt a smidge of guilt, since the next day he texted me that he was getting in the shower barely 15 minutes into my trip, and to let him know as soon as I was leaving town.
Of course Farmer H made sure he was not around when I left, nor returned. I guess I made 50 percent of a point.
3 comments:
The Pony is a clever one. He must be learning his evasive skills from his father...
Big Shame on both of them for not helping voluntarily and a half-shame on you for not calling out and demanding help. They don't learn if you don't make them. Of course that teaching begins as soon as they can toddle around, carrying their own little plastic plates to the kitchen and their own tiny clothes to the hamper.
Sioux,
I fear that Farmer H has undue influence on The Pony. Even though I'm around him more.
***
River,
I DID CALL OUT! When I entered the kitchen to set down my purse and magical elixir! NOBODY answered! Maybe I should have gotten out a pan and a metal spoon, and walked through the Mansion banging on it like a couple seasons ago on Big Brother!
I could not call out from the garage. Nobody would hear me in the house, even standing by the porch steps. They're deaf. One clinically, and the other selectively.
To be fair on my husbanding and parenting techniques... they each DO THEIR OWN LAUNDRY! So there's that. I even shamed The Pony into a minor clean-up last week. That story will come along eventually.
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