Maybe This Close Call Will Make Mrs. HM Think Twice About Her Contrariness

Phew! Mrs. Hillbilly Mom had a bit of a fright this morning at 5:15 a.m. She was the only one up at the time. She takes the first shower every morning. And that’s where it happened. In the master bathroom of the Mansion.

You know how, in that movie Silkwood, when Cher brings home that beautician from Thayer’s Funeral Home, Diana Scarwid, and, Diana says she always knows when somebody worked for Kerr-McGee, the plant that Meryl Streep is trying to get investigated for lax radiation safety procedures? Because, as she says, “They always look like they died BEFORE they died.” Well…that was almost Mrs. HM this morning.

No, I didn’t almost die. And I was not frightened by anything dead. But I almost took a shower BEFORE I took a shower!

I slid open the shower door and reached in to turn the giant crystal (okay, it’s clear plastic, but it LOOKS like crystal) knob to start the water. And all at once, a shower of cold water droplets rained down upon my noggin, wetting my lovely bed-headed lady mullet with a spray that cascaded from above, where there was no shower head.

If you’re not a science teacher, you may never have heard of the angle of incidence equaling the angle of reflection. It’s true. It works for light waves bouncing off of mirrors, and for Putt Putt Golf balls bouncing off that parabolic curve on the last hole so you can win a free game. And apparently, it works for well water sprayed out of a shower head bouncing off the top of a Scrubbing Bubbles Automatic Shower Cleaner.

Yeah. I had no idea what was going on. It was like I was trapped in a hole in some freakish woman-killer’s basement, and he had told me to rub the lotion on my skin, but I was feeling contrary, like, “No freakish woman-killer is going to tell ME what to do!” and I had not done so. Which meant that I got the hose again.

Maybe Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is a fan of too many old movies. It was just a little cold water splashing out of the shower over the top of the sliding door. Only this, and nothing more.

I'm Still Not Changing That Wish

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom should have been careful what she wished for!

Remember the days when she bemoaned the obsessive-compulsive style, the passive-aggressive style, the overstepping-the-boundaries style of Cus? Well...I'm not wishing to have Cus back. Not at all. But I WAS thinking about Cus just yesterday morning, when I noticed how my laptop screen was coated with dust. By the same token, my power has not dropped below 100% since the day Cus left. There was some definite shenaniganning going on there.

You might recall that our support staff has been turned topsy turvy, what with an injury to a kingpin. So there has been a parade of replacements taking turns servicing Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's room. Still. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom should not have to dump her own trash of a morning because it is still overflowing from the day before. And you would think that a reasonably-abled person would notice that when sweeping is done, there's still an a) giant clump of mud at the back of the room in the main traffic area, b) that a four-inch-long strip of yellow cellophane wrapper is in the middle of the main aisle in the back of the room (it even gives a SCRUNCH sound when stepped on, which I did twice), and c) an orange stub of colored pencil has been in the same place between two desks all week.

But this takes the cake. Not a real cake. Mrs. HM would never waste a real cake just to make a complaint! Pretend there is a cake to be taken. And here is the taker nomination:

That, my friends, is an unfolded large paperclip. Not the dinky little home-office kind of paperclip. The large, industrial size paperclip. Those tiles are 12 inches by 12 inches. That little booger is at least four inches long. Maybe more.

How can you not notice that? Especially since it was in the opposite corner of the room yesterday, cattycorner from Mrs. HM's desk. Uh huh. I suppose it's a worm coming to tell some spineless tale to Mrs. Hillbilly Mom in order to escape a roomful of adolescents. Or perhaps, somebody POSED it that way after school, like a silver metal snake, ready to strike.

Seriously. If your job was to push a broom around a classroom, could you NOT notice that you shoved this thing from one corner to another?

A Tale Of Dog And Douse

I almost got it. Uh huh. That Devil Dog who charges up its driveway and comes straight for me when I drive by every evening. I don't even want to think about what might happen if I walk by.

As you might recall, The Pony and I devised a plan to counteract this over-agressive mutt. So a couple of days ago, I spotted it waiting way down its own driveway. Watching. Standing up. Getting ready for the charge. I spun the lid off my water bottle with one hand. Had it ready.

That Devil Dog's timing was off. I was almost to the Mansion driveway by the time it charged out of its own. I flipped the water bottle over and put it out T-Hoe's window with my left hand, shaking the water towards that pugnacious poodle.

"I guess you know you missed it." The Pony doesn't really care about helping people. Only about showing them up when their plans go awry.

"I know. But that dog stopped! Did you see it? It stopped and stood there. Didn't charge into us or chase us."

"Yeah. But you didn't even get it wet."

"I KNOW! But I made it curious enough about that liquid spraying out that it stopped coming after us."

Baby steps.

I claim a victory for Hillmomba.

Some Things Are Good For The Goose But Not For The Gander, And Some Things Are Good For Both

If that don't beat all! You'll never believe the parking situation at The Devil's Playground this morning. Okay. I'm sure you WILL believe it. Because it is, after all, The Devil's Playground.

The Pony and I got a late start, because I had a ham in the oven. That's not a euphemism for anything. I literally had a ham in the oven. Once I took it out (not in the manner than Elaine's date took it out), we were free to throw in another load of laundry (not in the oven, of course, but into the washer where laundry belongs), and hit the road.

Since we were coming up on church let-out time, I thought we might have trouble finding a parking spot. Au contraire! Right by the doors to the grocery end were three EMPTY handicap spots, and the two right next to them empty as well. I pulled into the first regular empty slot.

"I'm leaving room, Pony, in case the person who parks next to me crowds the line. I always try to leave room to get my door all the way open. I might be over close to the handicap space, but it's wider, and has that striped line between them for extra room, and I figure if the person driving is handicapped, it's not in a physical way that needs a wheelchair on the driver's side and a lot of room."

"Okay." The Pony doesn't really care about my ability to get back into T-Hoe, or about the handicapped.

We went about our shopping. The Pony played his two dollars in the game room. We saw that The Devil now has HUGE plastic bags instead of the small plastic bags. Which seems wasteful to me, because they still rip if the corners of boxes gouge them, and you can only put so many canned goods inside until they are too heavy to lift. Out we went to the parking lot. Nobody still in the handicap spaces. A brown little SUV next to me, nearing the line, but just far enough in its own space that I could open T-Hoe's door all the way, and have about 3/8 of an inch left over before it would have touched that car. We loaded up T-Hoe's rear and got in.

While I was writing the amount from my debit card, and balancing the checkbook, those brown car folks came out and left. So there was now the space next to me empty, and the one on the other side of it. I guess that's the best time to go shopping now.

Just as I was putting away my checkbook, a minivan pulled in next to me. At an angle. Very close. I could not have opened up T-Hoe's door even to the first notch without hitting it. I felt like Melissa McCarthy in The Heat. I wanted to open my door and ram that other car five or six times. But I did NOT want to crawl through three cars to find a space big enough to open the door and get out. The lady inside that minivan was oblivious. She had her cell phone glued to her ear, which I am sure was the case when she parked. The back end of that minivan was even closer. I'm not sure The Pony could have fit a hoof down in between our cars without touching both.

I backed out. And saw the extent of that wench's bad parking skills. Her front tire was over the line and in my parking space. The back tire even more. I know she wasn't adjusting because of the car on the other side of her, because there was no car on the other side of her!

As we left the lot, I told The Pony, "I wish I would have tapped on her window and said, 'Don't you know how to park?'"

He made a noise like, "Errrrrr."

"Why? Don't you think I'd do it?"

"I know you would do it. But I don't think you should. She would probably laugh in your face."

"Or shoot me in the face. It's a good thing I don't carry a gun."

"I know!"

I think The Pony is really looking forward to going away to college. If only he would look forward to getting his driver's license so he doesn't have to ride with me everywhere.

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Oh, yeah, And in case you didn't get the title, it's fine for Mrs. Hillbilly Mom to park over the line so her door will open all the way, but not for anybody else. It's even finer for laws to be in place to keep most people from carrying guns in their cars.

Just One More Service They Offer

Today I made a run to town for the Save A Lot shopping. Farmer H and The Pony were out on the tractor and the Gator, dragging the gravel road and loading up big rocks. They asked me to bring them Dairy Queen chicken strips for lunch. I agreed. Not because I am kind, but because that meant I didn't have to prepare anything for them.

After picking up my necessities, I decided that why should I have to prepare lunch for myself, either, so I headed to the gas station chicken store. A lady followed me from the light. I say she followed me, but it was more like she was attached to my bumper. I outsmarted her, though, because I got my very special parking place, and she had to park up the hill beside T-Hoe.

She outsmarted me, though, because she got inside before I did. And got in line at the chicken counter ahead of me. And ordered the very last serving of wedge fries. Once she moved into the pay line, I stepped up to look in the case. The guy asked if he could help me, and said not to worry, he had fresh chicken ready to put in the warmer. I told him no, that I had wanted wedge fries, so I thought I'd pass for today. Seriously. Who wants gas station chicken without wedge fries? Oh, but then he said he had just dropped a basket of fries (which means into hot oil, not onto the floor) and they would be done in one minute. So I waited, and also ordered some chicken.

Ha ha! Looks like I outsmarted that lady, because she got the fries that had been in the warmer, and I go the fresh ones. Not really, though, because when I got home, I found out that my chicken was like leather, the worst chicken I ever got there.

But anyhoo...enough about me. Well, not really. But there was something else unusual about this gas station chicken store visit today. While I was in the chicken line, a guy was trying to pump gas, but that pump was broken. The loud happy clerk asked the chicken man if he would run outside for her and tell that guy the pump was broken. He said he'd like to, but he had to get the fries out. So she ran out and told the Pumper while the old fries lady was waiting to pay.

When I got in line with my unbeknownst shoe leather, Pumper was inside ordering chicken. Another guy pulled up at the broken pump. "Oh, no. There's another one. We have to put a sign on there. I'll go tell him."

"Don't worry. I can do that for you," said Pumper. And in a flash, he was out the door and across the lot.

"Okay. But he's deaf," said the loud happy clerk. Out the window, I saw Pumper telling the man the pump didn't work. And telling him again. And getting right up beside him. Then Pumper came back inside, followed by the elderly pumper.

"It's broken," said the loud happy clerk, while also signing. "Sorry."

The elderly pumper thanked her in sign, and headed out. "Thanks anyway. I tried to tell you he was deaf."

Pumper looked at me. "She's so loud a deaf man could hear her!"

Who knew that the gas station chicken store could provide such a valuable service? Not Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, that's for sure.

Something Winned This Way Comes

Victory is ours. Sweet, sweet victory. Okay. Maybe I'm overdoing it. But the Newmentia Unofficial Sciency Conglomerate faired well today. See what I did there? They went to the science FAIR at the local junior college, and returned with ribbons. Every. Single. Entrant.

WooHoo! We took ten pupils. Seven projects. And brought home four 1st Places and two 2nd Places and one Honorable Mention. We are the champions, my friends. The champions, and the runner-ups, and the also-rans.

The Pony and I arrived about 10 minutes after they opened the doors. We always do. The Pony likes to get set up early, before the rush of buses. Besides, we go straight there, and not to Newmentia first, because I have colleagues who are selfless and volunteer to make sure my kids get on the bus. After all, we have to hitch a ride with Basementia, because we don't have enough kids for a whole bus all our own. So kudos to my colleagues, the wind beneath my wings, the net beneath my high-wire act, the alibi for my lawsuit.

Thanks to my colleagues as well for picking up lunch and bringing it back, so we were not buffeted by the tide of hungry hungry teenos who rushed the snack bar for sustenance. Those kids can move! Usually, we teachers have Subway. And my mom (HI MOM) always picked up Little Caesar's and brought it out to the college for The Pony, and for #1 when he was still fairing. Mom attended some of the fairs, and more recently wanted updates throughout the morning by phone as to whether my boys had been asked to return to the floor after lunch. That meant they had won their category, and were in the running for Best in Fair. In all but a couple of years, that answer was yes. She was always excited for them, and Sis and I recently found a bunch of clippings from the local paper in Mom's safe, with the articles about the winners, and my boys' names circled. Uh huh. That's what was valuable to Mom. Today was another first...the first science fair without her updates and lunch.

So anyway, I started out talking about today's lunch, which was Chinese, and not very pleasing for me, because 3/4 of my cashew chicken was broccoli stems. Broccoli stems cut across, so they were flat discs with scalloped edges. Tasty enough if you have a few. Not pleasant if you can't find the chicken and the cashews for all the broccoli stems. The Pony had sweet&sour chicken, which I ordered without vegetables, or as he used to call them, vinchtables. He said his food was fine. When he had slowed down his consumption, I asked if he was going to eat the rest. Nope. So I told him to ask our other kids if anyone wanted it. Yep. You can never go wrong offering leftover food to teenage boys. Even if another teenage boy has been double-dipping in the red sauce. I stopped short of offering my tray full of broccoli stems. No need to insult them. Even though one was drinking two packets of soy sauce as I had The Pony throw away my Styrofoam container.

Yes, a good day was had by all. The only complaint (who are we kidding, I mean the only complaint I care to type up here) is that for some reason the facility staff forgot that the building was air-conditioned. We were frying in that field house. I felt like Elaine trying to sleep on the fold-out sofa in the spare room of Jerry's parents on a visit to Del Boca Vista, that time Jerry took the astronaut pen from Jack Klompus. At least I didn't have a bar in my back. Or the pointy knees of adolescents.

Time to go clear a space on the mantle for The Pony's blue ribbon.

Not The Most Delightful Way To Enter The Workplace

Day 3 of the unending downpour kicked off with a whimper as we left the driveway after The Pony hauled the trash dumpster through the drizzle. We stopped for gas, because T-Hoe was growing a mite peckish, down to a quarter of a tank, which I never let happen. The wind swirled around me in a whimsical fashion, first mussing my lovely lady mullet one way, then taking a different tack as I turned my head to adjust. I might as well have combed it with an electric mixer.

By the time we got to Newmentia, the skies were darker than when we left home, and rain was beating down like rice thrown by a petulant ex-husband who has taken his kids to their mother’s next wedding. I dropped The Pony at the door, after instructing him to get me an umbrella from T-Hoe’s rear. I drove back to our space in the next to next to last parking slot at the end of the building, and picked up the umbrella from the passenger seat.

In keeping with his fashion of selecting the most dented can, the most squashed bread, and the most crushed chips, The Pony had picked a special umbrella for me from the trio we keep stashed in case of emergency. It was the red-and-royal-blue-paneled umbrella with the bent metal spike on top, and the fabric ripped from one pointy metal rib, so that it flaps in the wind. The smallest of our umbrella triplets. Let the record show that Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is not the smallest of anything. I felt like an elephant in a circus holding a tiny parasol in my trunk.

As I started down the sidewalk, I debated on whether to hold down my flapping shirt so as not to expose my ample cleavage when the wind whipped the shirt up over my head…or to hold onto that umbrella with both hands as it shot to and fro with the forceful winds. I chose the umbrella. The parking lot was not heavily occupied, unless you count those 18-inch worms undulating across the blacktop. The prime audience would be those folks sitting around the office watching the security camera feeds.

All I needed was a flat-topped hat and a large satchel.

Oh, and a spoon full of sugar.