The Pony Discovers His Peanuts

The Pony arrived home after his 11-hour work day, all smiles with a personal revelation.

"When I make my next trip to the Devil's Playground, I'm going to get some peanuts. In the little packs. It will be cheaper than buying them at Casey's during my break. The regular salted peanuts. I think there's 240 calories in a pack. About half of what's in donuts."

"Yeah. I used to take them to school. They're a good snack. The protein and fat take longer to digest than carbs. So you don't feel hungry for a while."

"I might also try some other nuts. Like cashews. I'd really like pecans, but I don't think they come in packs like that. Heh, heh. I know it sounds like a 'That's what she said' joke, but I really like to eat hot nuts."

"Heh, heh. When we used to go to Sears on Grand, when I was a kid, we always stopped by the candy counter, and sometimes got hot nuts. They smelled wonderful when we entered the store."

"My nuts are hot because I leave them in the LLV!"

"You could get a bigger pack of pecans, and then put them in snack-size baggies to take with you."

"I'd really like it if we could make them like Chex Mix. Like put the stuff on them that you use, and roast them in the oven."

"I'd worry they might burn."

"You could put in just the Chex cereal with them. Not the Bugles or pretzels or Cheerios. Just Chex and nuts, and oil and the garlic powder, garlic salt, and Worcestershire sauce."

"Yeah, that might work. I still have some nuts and Chex left. But you'll need the pecans, I think."

"Maybe we can do that on Sunday?"

"Sure. It helps when you get the pans in and out of the oven for me."

 

I guess we'll call this snack Chex Nuts.

MOMcopter Or Bubble Wrap

I think I may have to ask Farmer H to rebuild the engine of my MOMcopter! I thought I'd retired from helicopter parenting, but I may need to be reactivated.

THE PONY HAD ANOTHER WORK CATASTROPHE ON MONDAY!

The tale is in the texts:

"Bad day. Will tell you later. Got stung by yellowjackets."

"Hope you're okay."

"Nauseous and shaky like last time. Still working."

"Okay. Call in if it gets bad."

"Told her when it happened, was like an hour before I texted you. She said it was fine if I needed more help, or wanted to stop. Kept working. Will be a late day, probably. Going to Steak N Shake after for comfort food."

"Where did you get stung?"

 

"Left wrist. Right upper arm through shirt. Felt a third sting, but can't find the spot."

"Do you feel okay now?"

"Eh."

"?"

"It felt like my tongue might have swelled for a little bit after. Not awful Just generally bad, which is normal after work. Maybe a bit more of a headache than usual."

 

Sweet Gummi Mary! The Pony might need a custom-made uniform. Out of bubble wrap.

Farmer H And I Don't See Eye To Eye

Farmer H and I don't see eye-to-eye because I won't allow him to speak to me face-to-face. For the past few days, anyway.

 

We went to the casino on Sunday. On Tuesday, Farmer H was sneezing his fool head off. He sounded like that detached fool head was talking from inside a bucket when he spoke. He dabbed at his nose with a tissue or handkerchief. Yes, he's so old-fashioned that he will carry a handkerchief.

 

"Oh, great. Your final attempt to kill me! This might just work."

 

"You don't know what you're talking about! I just have the sneezes."

 

"You have more than that. You're SICK! Now you'll give me the VIRUS and I'll die!"

 

"Malarkey!"

 

On Wednesday, Farmer H was singing a different tune from the confines of his imaginary bucket.

 

"I guess I've caught something. I couldn't sleep at all last night. I put some VICKS inside my nose. But the problem is my breather, feeding my own breath back to me."

Heh, heh! Not ALL of it! Welcome to MY world! In fact, I've abdicated my world, and will not get in the bed with Farmer H during his sickness.

"Yet you're still planning to go to the auction tonight? You're supposed to stay away from people if you're sick. Not go out in public."

"Yeah. It's just a little cold."

"That's what YOU think! Haven't you heard about the newest source of panic, the DELTA VIRUS?"

"No. Is that a thing?"

"Well, to hear the news tell it. So you better panic and then feel bad when you kill me with it."

"You watch too much news. I've been fine. Except I can't sleep. Maybe I should go to Urgent Care."

 

"Are you THAT sick?"

 

"No. But I don't want to get worse. I'm planning my trip for next week."

 

"Oh. If you're sick, go. They won't give you any medicine. They'll jab a thing up your nose. Then tell you to go home. A cold is usually better in 7 to 10 days. If you're leaving on Tuesday, that will be the 8th day."

 

"Well. I'll give it through the weekend, then go on Monday if I'm not better."

The next day (Thursday) around noon, Farmer H came in the kitchen door and sat down across from me at the table. 

"No! Don't even think about it! You're not sitting over there breathing your VIRUS breath on me!"

"You're crazy. I can't even talk to you."

"Not while you're breathing on me you can't!"

Farmer H stormed off to mow the yard. Some good fresh air and sunshine. Mumbling that he actually felt BETTER than the day before.

I heard him cough two, maybe three times that night, safe in my lair. On Friday, the bucketheadedness had gone away. Farmer H felt perfectly fine. Not carrying a handkerchief. An occasional spate of sneezes.

"I actually feel fine now. I'm over whatever it was. I TOLD you I wasn't sick!"

I'll let him sit across the table now. But no sneezing allowed.

Another Case For The IRONY Investigators

The Pony reported another on-the-job injury last week. There was the wrist sprain, the cat-scratch, and the step in the yard-hole... and now THE THUMB SLICE.

"I was over in Bill-Paying Town, delivering on that road by the water park and the hospital and grandma's nursing home. Look! On the ball of my thumb. A tag on the mail had come loose, and I sliced my thumb. You'll never guess where I was delivering at the time. THE HOSPITAL!"

"Heh, heh. I guess that might be irony. I certainly hope you didn't get blood on the mail!"

"NO! I hear that SO MUCH! DON'T GET BLOOD ON THE MAIL! Of course I'm careful about that."

Thank the Gummi Mary there's no guillotine factory in the area...

No, This Nightly Show Is NOT On Hiatus For The Summer

Welcome to another episode of...

"This Is the Time We Talk About the Most Recent Thing You've Done Wrong."

It's still in pre-production. Farmer H does not know what's coming. That would give him time to mount a still-insufficient defense for his wrongs.

A couple weeks ago, Farmer H left SilverRedO with Mick the Mechanic for work on... oh, I don't know... maybe something trivial like THE BRAKES. Not sure. It's there every month for something, yet T-Hoe languishes on a flat tire for a long weekend.

Anyhoo... I guess Mick or one of Farmer H's buddies met him there and drove him home. It's less than five miles from the Mansion. But he'd asked me to drop him off as I went to town, so he could re-claim SilverRedO. He was content to do it on my time schedule, so not a problem. Except for questioning my parking at the creek to let him out to get the mail.

Anyhoo... Farmer H was a well-enough behaved passenger. He didn't move the seat. He sat on the junk mail magazines as instructed. But then he opened up the air vent on the passenger side.

"Make sure you close that off when you get out. I get way less air over here when it's open, uselessly, on the passenger side."

Farmer H grunted, in what I assumed was compliance. What I'd really wanted to say was: "Seriously? You can't ride five minutes or four miles in the ambient temperature of T-Hoe's cabin?" But I didn't. Of course the king wanted his rolling borrowed castle to conform to his comfort needs.

You know what happened, right? Farmer H did NOT close off that vent. I was not concentrating on that blatant disregard of my request at the time. I was headed to get my magical elixir! And scratchers!

The next day I noticed. I couldn't get quite cool enough in the 93-degree heat. I turned up the fan twice, but I didn't seem to be getting the full blast of cool air. That's when I thought of the vent. I stuck my hand over the passenger seat, and felt the draft. I meant to walk around and close it when I stopped, but each time I was distracted by idiots parking badly. Or at least in my desired space.

Friday, I finally fixed it. In the garage when I got home. So it will be cooler on the next drive, anyway. Of course this needs to be brought to Farmer H's attention. Otherwise, he will run rampant, all willy-nilly, heady with the knowledge that he got away with something.

Even Steven Has Perfected His Timing

I was on the last leg of my errand trip when a text came in from The Pony. Technically, I was off the leg and almost on my rumpus. I'd completed my stops at the post office, Casey's for scratchers, and had gas sloshing in T-Hoe's gut. I was merely passing back through town on my way to Burger King. I'd normally take a different route on the other side of town, but there's been construction of annoying sidewalks and curbs going on for a month now.

"Clocked out. Thinking about stopping at the new Chinese place. Would you want something if I do?"

SWEET GUMMI MARY! Doesn't The Pony know me better than that? Ever since he had the new Chinese, and brought me leftovers (well, brought them, then went to Steak N Shake the next day, and let me have them)... we've talked about him picking up Chinese for all of us.

Good thing I glanced at my phone while sitting at the 3-way stop. Of course I couldn't text while driving. When I got to the 4-way stop in front of Subway, I made a left, and then a quick right, and was in the municipal parking lot that is just out of frame to the right in that picture from the back of the post office. I called The Pony.

"Where are you?"

"I literally just clocked out. I'm walking to my car."  

[parked in the lot beside the post office]

"I'm in that lot you sometimes park in. By Subway. Good thing you caught me before I got Burger King!"

"Across from Subway?"

"Yeah. Come on up and we'll decide what I want."

The Pony parked his Rogue beside T-Hoe. He put down the passenger window.

"I'm hot. The air conditioner has to stay running."

"That's fine. I guess we'll get something for Dad, too, although he was having leftovers from his pork chops from the Ponytail Guy."

The Pony pulled out a pen from a package of 10, to write down the order.

"It's so hot in here that when I tried to pull that little ball of plastic off the point, it melted in my hand."

Anyhoo... I wanted Garlic Chicken, got Hunan Chicken for Farmer H, and The Pony had Black Pepper Chicken, which he ate there. We had the dinner special this time, which came in THE RECTANGULAR CHINESE TUPPERWARE! That's a reason to eat there, for sure!

Here's mine, which I put in the round Chinese Tupperware from The Pony's last visit. That's about half of what was in my order.

 

Yes, I feasted! Those crab rangoons are DELICIOUS! I don't like the egg roll. It has a filling with something that reminds me of stuffing. Not just cabbage and vegetables. It was crispy, though. My photo is terrible. Almost on Farmer H level of terrible. At least mine is an extreme closeup, cutting off edges, rather than a tiny pinpoint subject swimming in background.

I was downstairs by the time Farmer H got home to eat. He loved his Hunan Chicken. Said it's spicier than the other place we get it. For emphasis, he added:

"My head is sweating."

We will definitely have this again! Starting with tomorrow, when we all have leftovers!

Oh, yeah! One of my scratchers won $100. Even Steven is back in my good graces. 

Or I'm in his...

Thoughts For The Thoughtful

I don't know what's gotten into The Pony lately. He made a trip to The Devil's Playground after work on Tuesday, and he BROUGHT ME SOMETHING!

Of course, he'd told me that since he was going after his half-day of work, he didn't feel like shopping from my big list. That list only had a couple items left, since I'd been getting them myself at Country Mart. It's been almost as long as the time between casino trips since The Pony did any shopping.

Anyhoo... the only two things I asked for were a bag of tortilla chips, and a big sandwich. When The Pony was about to check out, he sent a text. 

"Chips and what?"

The Pony has a memory like Farmer H. Anyhoo... I reminded him of the big sandwich, so he got the only kind left, a turkey and cheese.

When The Pony got home, I heard him trotting down the 13 rail-less basement stairs. Amazing how only a half-day of work keeps The Pony's legs fresh.

"I got you a little treat."

Hm. I was thinking maybe a candy bar. A bakery dessert. That's a treat, right? But no.

"Look! It's Garlic Aioli Mustard!"

The Pony brandished the plastic squeeze bottle, and unscrewed the lid.

"Here. Smell it? Do you want to try some?"

"No. I'm good. But I'll take a whiff."

Let the record show that The Pony showed me how to make his special sandwich sauce when he moved back home. Garlic aioli, stone-ground mustard, mayo, and horseradish. It's great on a sandwich. This was basically it in a bottle. Less the horseradish. 

"Mmm. I think that will be good on the turkey sandwich."

Wednesday, I asked The Pony what I owed him for my chips and sandwich. When I send him with a shopping list, he takes my debit card for payment. This time he used his own. The Pony was adding it from the two receipts. He'd rung the sandwich separately, but the chips were lost on his receipt.

"Oh, Mom. Do you want to pay for the Garlic Aioli Mustard, too?"

"Sure. I guess so."

Glad to know I bought my own treat. Though I might have made a different selection.