Saturday, March 11, 2006

Hillbilly Treasure Trove

This morning my Hillbilly Husband arose at the crack of dawn and
took off with #1 son to pick up one man's junk. Which of course,
to HH, means TREASURE! What he neglected to tell me was that
he was going to St. Charles. That dirty dog! Anybody from the
St. Louis area knows that St. Charles means one thing to a redneck:
GAMBLING! Did my HH offer to drop me off and pick me up on
his way back? NO! I have issues. HH is in the doghouse. Not the
good doghouse, where Grizzly has his pillow, the pillow formerly
known as HH's 'I'm going to put this on our bed' pillow. Noooo!
The other doghouse. The box. The Poopie Palace. It is going to be
quite crowded with the three of them in there. When Hillbilly Mom
ain't happy, nobody is happy.

HH is doing a good imitation of being happy, despite my cold
shoulder. He loves junk, and he adores it if it's free junk. He got
a 1991 hot tub that originally cost $3000, and has appreciated
to around $4500. Also part of the deal was a 1981 snow blower
that is brand new, original cost $175, now worth $250. And...
a child's desk, assorted lumber, half-full bottles of gin, scotch,
bourbon, and peach schnapps. Somebody else must have
scavenged the partridge-in-a-pear-tree. These are all HH's
valuations, of course. I didn't know used appliances were worth
more than was paid for them in the beginning when they were
new. He is in hillbilly heaven. If he's not, I'm ready to send him.

HH got his bounty from a work colleague. The guy's dad passed
away a few months ago, and his house just sold. The son was
putting things in order. He told HH that he was going to have to
pay someone to haul it off, and HH could have it if he wanted it.
Though he didn't offer to pay him for getting rid of it. So who's
cheatin' who?, as the Alan Jackson song goes. Anyhoo...that
was like asking Michael Jackson if he will babysit your little boy
overnight. When the dust had cleared, HH made out like a
bandit. Hmm...that makes me wonder how bandits make out.
I wonder if we could get one to take that Sexual Purity Test?
I am obsessed with it now.

When HH and #1 returned home with the spoils, we headed
to town to buy #2 son a new bed. He is too long for his yellow
plastic sedan bed now. From there we proceeded to drop off
some HH medicine for refills, since he is too lazy to pick up the
phone and call them in. We dined at the Great Wall of China
next door while we waited. #1's fortune said he would inherit
land or money. #2's said had a good future. HH's said he was
loyal to his family. Mine said, "May you have a good appetite."
I don't get no respect! Even from the fortune cookie! I need a
good appetite like I need a dog pillow on my bed.

After picking up the meds, we headed out to my Hillbilly Mama's
house to borrow her pick-up. We couldn't use ours, you see,
because it had a borrowed trailer full of swag hitched to it. We
had to borrow the trailer, because none of our three trailers were
good enough. My HM questioned me like a Wal*Mart returns
clerk sensing no receipt. Who wanted the truck, what for, how
long? Jeez! Our house loan was easier to get! Oh, and HH had
to put in a new battery before he could take it. I'm not knocking
my HM, because it IS her truck, to loan as she sees fit. But she
just got it back from my 19-year-old nephew (son of my sister-
the-mayor's-wife), who had it for about a month. I don't get no
respect. My HM even "offered" to ride along, so she could
bring it right back home after the hauling of the bed. I'm kind
of surprised she didn't ask for HH's passport to hold as collateral.

Now the euphoria of the windfall has worn off. HH is cranky,
trying to put in the bed that he hadn't prepared the room for.
We are all mad at HH for monopolizing our Saturday. This
morning, I woke up with the urge to clean up the house. Mark
the calendar. That happens about once every ten years. Thank
Gummi Mary I leaned over the kitchen sink and ate a cinnamon
donut until that feeling went away. I have my Citgo Pink Lemonade
Diet Coke, and I ain't cleanin' the house because HH expects me
to clean the house while he's dealing with that bed. Let's see...I've
done three out of six loads of laundry, shoveled the puppy poo off
the porch, bagged up the bathroom trash, hauled the kitchen trash
out to the dumpster, washed a sinkful of dishes, and wiped off the
stove. I am not in a mood to have him boss me. The trash is not my
job. I am bitter.

If I do anything, it will be to clean up my office and lay out the tax
paraphernalia. Hey! I still have a month to get them done. It's not so
much fun when you don't get a giant refund like all my students brag
about. It's a regular Redneck Christmas at tax time. Not for us,
though. How about it, Mabel? I got a feeling neither one of US will
be buying big screen TVs with our tax refunds. OK, so you already
have the biggest TV that money can buy. My point is that we will
most likely have to finagle not to pay taxes, much less expect a
refund that will fund a cruise to the Bahamas. Perhaps we can catch
a ride on that next handbasket. I hope I don't have to report those
newfound appliances as income.


Blogger Redneck Diva said...

Ooh, I got up this morning with an urge to clean house as well. It wasn't a cinnamon donut that caused mine to pass - it was an apple fritter. Then I laid down on the couch and watched VH1 with my eyes closed. I did manage to load and run the dishwasher, unload and reload it, though. I'm exhausted now. Time for another apple fritter!

4:13 PM  
Blogger Hillbilly Mom said...

We must pass on the cleaning habits of the redneck culture. It is a big responsibility, but I think we're up to it.

7:07 PM  

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