by Bella Rum
It happened. A couple of days ago, while chopping veggies for a salad, H cut his finger. I heard the yelp and looked up to see blood – a goodly amount. The knife slipped and cut his pinky. The cut is less than a half-inch long, but I suspect it’s deep because the gap hasn’t closed yet. I think two little stitches would have done the trick, but he refused to go to ER (my last visit was $400 out of our pockets), and he refused to let me stitch it up for him. I just don’t understand why? 😦 So I make him keep Bacitracin ointment and a Band-Aid on it.
H has to get his truck inspected today. We’ll have a cup of coffee, and then I’ll follow him down to the mechanic’s shop. The sticker expired in December. Can you believe that? It’s been sitting in the garage. He starts it up occasionally. He hardly drives it anyway, just to the golf course or the dump, and he hasn’t done either of those all winter. Spring is coming, and we’ll eventually catch a day that’s warm enough for golf, and then there’s yard work. That will start soon.
Talk of spring reminds me. I bought the prettiest red Japanese maple last spring. I’ve wanted one for years. I always love that bit of red in the green landscape. When the gypsy moths finally killed my poor ‘Forest Pansy’ Redbud, I knew exactly what I would replace it with. H planted it for me at the end of the porch. Small though it was, I admired it with great hopes. On their last visit, my oldest granddaughter (8-years-old) came in the house, head hanging and my son one step behind her. Almost tearfully, but not quite, she said, “Nona, I broke the limbs off your tree. I thought it was dead.” She was so remorseful.
I was in the grocery store a couple of days ago, and a thirty-something dad was in the checkout line in front of me with his little boy. The dad’s pants were down below his butt crack. Now, this wouldn’t normally be a unique sighting, but I don’t mean just the top of his crack. His buttocks were hanging out, and he wasn’t wearing underwear. I swear, the entire set of melons were winking at me. And… every time he moved, his hoody rode up and exposed an x-rated amount of skin for my viewing. The whole experience was a little icky. He was wearing NO underwear and no shirt under the hoody. Really? He must have been in a hurry. Did you ever have a strong urge to do something outrageous, something that could get you confined to a mental institution? I had such an urge to pants that guy. I really wanted to roll up one of the tabloids on the shelves that line the checkout aisle and wallop the heck out of him with Brad Pitt’s face. Somebody needs a time out until he learns how to wear his pants.
I went into the bathroom yesterday and stepped into a puddle of water. The toilet is leaking. H will have to change the seal. Toilets are a pain, but indoor plumbing is sweet. So.
Very last thing:
H just checked the weather and guess what? They’re calling for ice first, but then snow today. I’ll believe it when I see it.