On To The A-Cad Complaint Department

Of course Farmer H was the driver of A-Cad on our trip to the casino. He managed to stay within the wake-up bumps most of the journey! Maybe his equilibrium was off. Anyhoo... the drive down wasn't too stressful. He even unwrapped his own Sausage Egg McMuffin at 75 mph, and didn't scare me. I usually do that task for him, FOR MY OWN SAFETY, but he couldn't wait until I was done with my phone.

We arrived without incident. Farmer H dropped The Pony and me off at the door, then went to make his merchandise-buying rounds. Of course he is always on the lookout for firearms and ammunition. But this time, he bought over $100 worth of FISHING POLES. A-Cad was stuffed to the gills when we left the casino. The poles were loaded from A-Cad's hatch, but stuck up through the seats, beside The Pony. He was not thrilled with his riding companions on the trip home.

"Look out, Mom. Don't reach back for a tissue or the wastebasket, because you'll get hooked."

"There's no hooks on them fishing poles."

"If you say so."

We meandered back through town to the highway. We didn't see Her Majesty the Queen in the back seat of a small sedan this time. Back on the road, I mentioned that I was having vision issues.

"I can't seem to focus sometimes. Even with my glasses. I could hardly see to scratch my lottery tickets last night! And I have to lean really close to my computer."

"You know you have a cataract. You need to get that taken care of."

"He said it wasn't that bad."

"Mom. They change."

"Oh. Now you know all about cataracts? Such an interesting topic for one so young."

"They DO change, HM. The doctor says they can't do surgery on them until they're ripe. That's what they told your grandma."

"EWW! Can we NOT talk about ripe cataracts? Just don't. I'd take a nap, but I might wake up blind. Sometimes it's worse after I close my eyes."

"Well, they shift around. All you need is eye drops a few days before. Then they do the surgery in the office. And you have an eye patch for a day. And more drops. And then you're fine. Buddy (of the Badly Blacktopped Hill) just got his done. He was home in three hours."

"Enough. I'm done talking. I've having a nap."

This is the most boring stretch of road ever. On the way there, I am excited at the prospect of gambling and lunch. But on the way back, it's mind-numbingly boring. The Pony won't talk. He puts music in his ears, and texts or does laptop stuff. Farmer H is not a scintillating conversationalist. We have to listen to a country music radio station. So I try to sleep from mile marker 110 to 154. It's quite refreshing if I can pull it off. Usually, I cannot.

 

Ah. I was snoozing like Rip Van Winkle when it happened. 

 

I WAS CATAPULTED FORWARD LIKE A BUBONIC-PLAGUE-RIDDEN CORPSE OVER A CASTLE WALL DURING THE MIDDLE AGES!

Too bad those corpses didn't have seatbelts. I stopped short on my tether, and avoided crashing through A-Cad's windshield.

"What in the NOT-HEAVEN? I hope you bought a defibrillator at the pawn shop. My heart is stopped. My kneecaps slid down my shins. And I think you popped off my cataract!"

"Oh, HM. You're so dramatic. I didn't do nothin'. Just barely tapped the brake to take off the cruise control. To let this big truck in. But he didn't go."

"Um. Dad? There ARE hooks in some of these fishing poles. I can see them now that they shifted."

Yeah. Farmer H, not paying attention. Probably looking at his phone, driving on cruise control in the fast lane, not allowing for the ebb and flow of traffic. Just riding along at the rear corner of a double-trailer UPS semi for miles, keeping him from changing lanes to get around slower traffic.

I guess I'm lucky that I wasn't pierced by a fishing pole, and snagged by the hook...