Mrs. HM, The Scavenger

When I parked in my rightful handicap space at the Gas Station Chicken Store on Friday, I saw a scratcher on the pavement beside T-Hoe. It was face-down, and looked like a big one. My eyes weren't good enough to see the gray denomination number that's on the back. I was guessing it could have been a $20, $30, or $50. People don't just drop these tickets. They toss them out when they're losers!

Anyhoo... with my back/rumpus in recovery from the shooting pain, I had no intention of bending over to get it. In fact, a man was walking past me from the FREE AIR hose, and I pulled T-Hoe's door closed to let him pass. He stepped right over that ticket.

When I came back out after my purchase, that ticket was still there. So I balanced precariously with my cane, and picked it up. As I expected, it was already scratched. But the bar code had NOT been uncovered. It was a $50 ticket. So I scratched off the barcode, and entered it into my MOLOTTERY app.

As I've said before, I don't often enter my ticket points, because there haven't been any good prizes to buy with them for many years. Now all we can get are obscure gift cards, or a coupon for a ticket. Since I don't have a working printer, and the clerks don't seem to know how to scan it off a phone (from when I've seen other people ask), it's not worth the time for me. The app is time-consuming, and awkward to move around in. I use it to scan and make sure I don't miss a winner, but you have to do it all over again to enter the points.

Anyhoo... I DO scan in points for special drawings, like the one they have monthly for the "big" tickets like the $50s and $30s. I occasionally buy a $30, and The Pony likes the $50s. That's how "we" won $300 in a drawing last year.

I like to think of my act of scavengery as being selfless. I was picking up litter, you know!

Here We Go Again, With The Tickmonger Deigning To Take Responsibility

I made it to town for errand day, an abbreviated outing to baby my rumpus/leg nerve. The Pony rode along with me to the bank, and pumped my gas after I paid, so that I didn't have to rush back across the parking lot before the pump shut off. I took my cane, and felt better than I expected. 

During this outing, I kept feeling an itch on my left side. It was about midway down my ribs, a little past the midline, towards my back. It was in a convenient spot for my thumb to reach and scratch. Watching TV later that night, while Farmer H was downstairs in my Old People Chair, watching a different show, I pulled up my shirt and sweatshirt to get a good scratch, nail to skin. I couldn't see that area, but I felt something. Something I didn't want to feel. Something flippy.

It was a tick. I got a grip on it, with my thumbnail and finger. Ripped it out of my flesh, and smashed it, then mummified its remains in a Puffs With Lotion. 

Dang Farmer H! When he came upstairs to watch the next show with me, I informed him of my attack by a parasite he has once again brought into the Mansion.

"I don't know why you always blame ME. You get 'em from the dogs. That's where I get 'em. It's not my fault."

"Seriously? I walk from the house to the porch to the garage. I never step on grass. I've only been to town a few days this week. I only pet Jack, for about a minute when I leave, and a minute when I come home. I don't hold him. Just a hand on his head and chest. But YOU are out on that mower for hours. You walk around the pool messing with the filter. You walk around the trailer, loading the mower for town, where you MOW MORE GRASS! You go out in the yard to pick up Pupsie's trash. But I'M the one bringing it ticks???

I probably got it from the bed. That's the side I lie on. My left side. You don't even take a shower at night anymore. Your shoes sit right there in front of the recliner. You brought me my phone from my jacket one day when you had just come in. And you carried my jacket to the kitchen for me another day. My jacket never goes outside anywhere around the dogs. AND you said you've had several ticks this summer."

"You're full of it. It's not MY fault. I just got one off my leg yesterday."

Farmer H was doing nothing to prove his innocence! His statements could be used to prove MY case! In fact, in the wee hours before he woke up the next morning, I found ANOTHER tick! It was on my left arm, inner elbow. I could see this one, and dispatched of it the same way. They were both small, maybe half the size of a pinhead. Both on my left side.

Clearly, these parasites were introduced to the inner Mansion by Farmer H. They either went from the sheets to my jacket when I laid down for my nap, or from Farmer H to my jacket when he touched it, twice. I don't think the ticks migrated across the carpet and climbed the couch. I think they were on my jacket, and finally worked their way to my flesh. 

That river in Egypt is Farmer H's favorite body of water... There's nothing to be done about it after the fact, but Farmer H could at least take responsibility for bringing the ticks into the Mansion.

Evidence Of More Pupsing

I don't think I revealed the latest antics of Pupsie. Not because there were more interesting things to share. We all know that not much happens around here. More like it's a subject I don't like re-living. If I already told this one, skip on down to the latest Pupsing...

Last week, Farmer H stepped out on the porch to take a pee. At least it was dark. Almost. He came back inside and put on his camouflage Crocs.

"What are you doing?"

"Going out in the yard to pick up what that stupid dog tore up now."

He came back with a trash bag containing small pieces of paper/cardboard. Said it had my name on a piece, and that it was a POOP BOX! Don't get me started. I did not order a poop box, I did not WANT a poop box, I tell that to my NP who I haven't seen since December, and I avoid answering the million calls I get from Humana. No poop box for Mrs. HM, ever since I did it and insurance didn't cover it and it cost me almost $700 out of pocket. PLUS I never even got my results. At least this one was a nice "present" for Pupsie. 

Funny how you can get a package delivered that you DIDN'T order, but not half of the packages you ACTUALLY order!

______________________________________________________________

Anyhoo... Farmer H stepped out on the front porch again Wednesday evening. 

"Look what that stupid dog has NOW!"

It WAS somebody's doll. Lest there's any question of the identity of the perpetrator, I direct your attention to Exhibit A during the evidentiary proceedings. She's right there in the photo! 

Farmer H brought it in, waving it around, but I think he threw it back out! I don't remember. I was preoccupied with the last half hour of the 90-minute Big Brother episode. If he did throw it out, rather than putting it in the trash, I guess he figures Pupsie will finish eating it, and not leave particles on the porch, sidewalk, or yard.

I caution you not to look at the bottom edge of the picture. NOOOO!!! I warned you! Nobody needs to see Farmer H's toes, despite his monthly pedicures.

HOW Has This Guy Survived Into Elderlyhood???

Despite my stabbing rumpus/leg pain, I made supper for Farmer H on Monday. It was burritos, and I took some shortcuts. Rather than standing at the stove frying hamburger, I used some fajita frozen chicken in the microwave. Still, I performed other tasks that were taxing with my mysterious injury.

I opened a can of refried beans to warm in a saucepan. I diced an onion, poured shredded lettuce and shredded cheddar from bags onto a plate. Set the salsa and sour cream on the cutting block, with a spoon for each. All Farmer H had to do was pick up a paper plate from the stack on the counter, get two large tortillas out of a bag beside the paper plates, and start building his burritos. 

I thought that would be easy enough for him, as I leaned on the counter, telling him where things were. You know, because he's apparently a stranger to this kitchen, and blind.

"You'll have to get a plate. And your tortillas out of the bag next to the plates. I hope your hands are clean!"

Farmer H declared that he had washed his hands when he came home, in the bathroom and not the kitchen. He picked up his plate, and opened the microwave.

"I don't know what you're looking for. Your chicken is right there on the stove. I already took it out."

"The tortillas." 

"Over there, where I told you!"

Farmer H stepped back to the other side of the stove, the direction of the paper plates, and picked up A BOX OF INSTANT OATMEAL PACKETS!

"What in the Not-Heaven are you doing? Does that look like tortillas? They wouldn't even fit in that box! They come in a BAG! Right there beside the paper plates!"

Again, Farmer H picked up that oatmeal box.

"NO! What is wrong with you? Look at the plates! Right there!"

"Oh."

Maybe I should have let him open up that box of oatmeal packets, and see if he tried to put his ingredients on them! It just shows how much I do for him that he takes for granted. I'm surprised he didn't starve to death while I was severely down in my rumpus for the previous five days.

Once Again, The Mail Makes Deadbeats Of The Hillbilly Family

I'm sure you won't be shocked to hear that Mrs. HM is past due on her bills again. Through no fault of her own, mind you! There is plenty of money in the coffers. We just sold a flip house(s), you know! Got all our investment back, and more. Nor is Mrs. HM a scofflaw who thinks she deserves something for nothing. When she gets a bill, she pays it. Usually that same day, or the next.

Saturday evening, Farmer H brought in the mail. That was August 9, you know. It included an oversized square envelope with the return address of our insurance company. Not the one we've had for over 30 years, but the newest one that we use for the Bargan House flip, and our Hillbilly Mansion, since Farmer H switched our coverage for our home in January. He said the old company's rate was too high, and our agent agreed, but said he couldn't change it, and was losing a lot of customers.

Anyhoo... we left all our cars insured with the old company, out of loyalty. And also The Pony's house and the Double Hovel flip house(s), though they were through separate companies associated with the old insurance, only for rental properties. Let the record show that we always paid our Mansion and Pony House annually. When Farmer H changed our policy to the new insurance, he put it on a 2-pay plan. He went to the agent's office and paid him with a check in January. I made a note of it in the checkbook register.

Back to Saturday evening, when I opened the insurance envelope, thinking it was the bill for the next six months.

IT WAS A CANCELLATION NOTICE!!!

That was quite a shock. Unsettling. Embarrassing. We pay our bills! IF we GET them! 

I do not contemplate paying a bill six months down the line. I have other things rattling around in my head. I figure I'll get a bill when I owe something. I'm not setting up autopay for a twice a year bill that is thousands of dollars. 

Anyhoo... the letter said that the payment had been due by July 31. And that unless payment was received, the policy would be cancelled on August 17. Thank the Gummi Mary, the mail had been on time with this cancellation notice, having been sent on August 6, arriving on August 9. Well. There's no way to pay that bill on a Saturday night. Or Sunday. But Monday morning, Farmer H was at the insurance office, with a check made out for the amount we paid on January 31.

I didn't know if that was the right amount, because sometimes there's a few cents difference, or there might have been a late fee because we missed the deadline. I told Farmer H that I doubted that would keep them from accepting our check, and that if it was more, he could just pay that portion from his pocketful of cash he uses when he finds a bargain.

The Agent is a young guy. He told Farmer H he'd been watching our account, and saw that it wasn't paid. He had thought of calling, but he didn't. I WISH HE HAD CALLED! Farmer H explained that we hadn't been getting much mail. Sometimes days without it. He is missing a package. And our separate financial statements that always come at the same time did not, with mine arriving five days before his this month.

The Agent said he understood, and took the check. Heh, heh! He probably ran right to the bank with it, lest we stop payment, or not have the funds. I wouldn't fault him for that. His living depends on a percentage of his policy payments.

Farmer H came home with the big envelope, but not the cancellation notice! Of course he got a chewing-out for that.

"It had all the policy and account numbers on it! How am I supposed to keep a record of this? What if it happens again? How am I going to find out the details?"

"He kept it! He attached our check to it. He give me that receipt."

"This receipt is the size of a Post-It Note! It just has the amount and his signature. No policy or account numbers or dates of coverage! I don't know why he needed that notice. He has all the numbers in his records."

"I don't know, but that's all he gave me."

I guess we're lucky that the policy didn't get cancelled on July 31. The way my luck has been going, the Mansion might have been struck by lightning on August 1.

A Bad Day At 10Box

Mrs. HM does most of her everyday shopping in 10Box. It's conveniently located in Hillmomba, the workers are really nice, they have most of what I want, and the produce isn't rotten. Even when the left-side lottery machine rips me off, I'm not TOO discouraged, because it's my own fault. I know that machine is glitchy.

Saturday was not a good day. Only my second day to venture out after my couch-injured rumpus started giving me shooting back/rumpus pain and a numb ankle/foot on Tuesday. I went in 10Box for a large bottle of acetaminophen tablets. While there, I got some cookies for Farmer H. No, it's not a plan to try to kill him. He will find sweets without my help.

Anyhoo... as I was cart/walking to the checkout, the newest checker was closing up her lane at the end, the one I prefer. She's an older lady, with a helmet of gray hair. Looks like she might have once been a professional bowler. She's all businesslike, and not nearly as friendly as the other checkers. The checker who always asks me about scratchers was going off duty. I had just seen her outside smoking, and now she was buying a big jug of sweet tea. Helmet Hair had already put her CLOSED sign on the conveyor, as well as having her light off. Of course she agreed to ring up the tea for her colleague.

Only one more lane was open, with the Young Guy with strawberry-blond hair. He's a pleasant fellow. I wheeled over there, and was second in line. A couple was buying what looked like a month's worth of groceries. Most was already at the end, with the skinny guy bagging it and putting it back in the cart.

This is when other people decided they had to check out RIGHT THEN. Behind me were two girls, maybe 21 or just under. They had one item in their hand. No cart. I only had three items, so I didn't feel a need to let them go ahead. They were young, on four good legs between them. One had out her phone. They were giggling. Talking about guys.

Those Gals kept getting closer to me. There was no need for that. People behind them had to curve down the main aisle anyway. I turned to give them the stinkeye, and Gal One put her phone down. Gal Two giggled. That made me suspicious. Were they FILMING ME? I don't know. Didn't think so, from their conversation. But they'd shut up when I turned around, and put the phone down. SO ANNOYING! Most people would catch on that such a look means to GIVE ME MY SPACE. Not Those Gals. I could have been holding one on my left hip like a toddler, she was so close. 

I was getting more steamed by the minute, because Those Gals wouldn't back off. So I quit turning around and fumed silently. The customers ahead of me had all their groceries rang up, bagged, and in the cart. The lady took out her phone. Oh, no. Here we go again. A Save A Lot replay. Maybe she was using her store coupons from the app. Or trying to pay. She made many attempts to do something with her phone. Then the skinny guy came around and used her phone. Then he took out HIS phone. Whatever they were trying to do didn't work. So he took out a card and paid.

While all this was going on, Hemet Hair was flitting around, watching, and BAGGING TRASH. Seriously? You see a bunch of customers backed up, nothing moving, and you can't leave that trash for 10 minutes to help Strawberry Blondie get caught up? Shame on you! She even caught my eye. Which was NOT a welcome glance in any way.

Finally I got my turn. It was quick. I got away from the giggle girls. Went to the right-side lottery machine. I'll be ding-dang-donged if Helmet Hair didn't come over there and hover. It looked like about five tickets in the wastebasket between the machines. I moved my cart/walker so she could get around, but she just hovered. Distracting me. I was scanning in winners to play on. I always wait to see the worth, and make sure I tap the selection for using it in the machine, and wait for it to show up in the total. 

Well. Helmet Hair shook her big trash bag, which she was using for dumping in the smaller bags. Leaving the bags in, just shaking out the trash. I scanned three tickets, and tossed them in the wastebasket. Helmet Hair said, "Excuse me, I'm just going to dump this wastebasket." She came around the end of my cart, dumped the trash, and went on looking for more trash.

When I turned to make my selections, I saw that my total was not what I expected. One of those tickets had scanned to show me the amount, but had not added it to my total! That happens sometimes on all the machines. I either did it too fast, or the screen didn't recognize that my finger was a living appendage. Normally, I would pick my tickets back up and scan them again, to find the right one and apply my winnings. But I couldn't, because my just-scanned tickets were in Helmet Hair's big trash bag. It was a $15 winner!

No way was I going to try finding that ticket. My rumpus was acting up. I just had to eat that loss. Of course I blame Helmet Hair, but if I had been feeling my normal self, I would not have been rushing, and would have had no qualms about making her wait to get my trash.

It was just a bad day at 10Box.

Another Attempt, I'm Pretty Sure

Farmer H grows craftier with each attempt to kill me. So many (possible) accidents, so little time (before I naturally kick the bucket).

I don't remember if it was here or elsewhere, but I revealed that Farmer H was stung by a wasp in POOLIO last week. It was right on the chest. He whined over it for a couple days. Kept picking at it, saying there was a stinger in it. I didn't feel or see a stinger. You know if there was, with all his picking, it would have squeezed more venom into him. Anyhoo... I guess it's better.

It was the day before, or day after the POOLIO sting that I told Farmer H there was a wasp nest over the kitchen door. It's a favorite place for them. I used to go on a killing spree every summer, then knock down the nest. With less mobility, I am loathe to write that check that my rumpus can't cash. I don't want to try running from angry wasps if my first RAID doesn't get them all. I have never had an allergic reaction to a wasp sting before, because I have never been stung by a wasp. But my dad was allergic, and had to carry an epi pen when he was a telephone lineman. That's back in the day when an epi pen wasn't really a thing.

Anyhoo... Farmer H supposedly sprayed that nest while I was in town. I cautioned him not to use too much, because it would drip down where the dogs lick the porch after a treat.

Indeed, when I got home, there were no wasps sitting on the nest, and the porch was dry. I didn't think anything else about it.

Today (Sunday) while sitting at HIPPIE at the kitchen table, I saw a wasp buzzing around the window. I had seen him yesterday as well, and meant to ask Farmer H if maybe he should spray again. Being preoccupied with my back/rumpus pain, it was not a high priority.

Anyhoo... as I was watching the wasp flit around, a chill went down my spine, stopping short at my rumpus nerve. The wasp was on the other side of the mini blinds, but on THIS SIDE of the wooden window pane trim. The flitting was INSIDE THE MANSION!

But wait! It gets worse! The wasp was on the window by the kitchen door. It would fly/crawl up so far, then get a wing caught on the blinds, and fall to the sill. Next thing I knew, I heard that bumping/buzzing/bumbling at my right shoulder. The wasp was at the window beside me, where I look out into POOLIO! It's pacing along the top of the bottom window. The part where the locks are.

I have contemplated using Farmer H's grabber from his back surgery to poke it to death. I fear that it might slip and break a hole in the window pane. Or that the wasp will not take kindly to my attempts, and come after me. Or what if I only wound it, and it falls into my gambling purse that hangs on the back of a chair. I think this is a job for Farmer H.

He must have "accidentally" let the wasp in this morning as he left for his SUS2.5. It was not in the Mansion yesterday.

Surely Farmer H is not crafty enough to make a wasp sting him in POOLIO, and then let one in the house a few days later, so if I succumb to a possible allergic reaction to a sting, he can tell investigators: "We've been having a wasp problem lately."