Soap Bank Heifer Ice
I decided to clean the house yesterday morning. I got off to a good
start with folding some laundry and doing the dishes. Then I had to
make a trip to Wal*Mart for some soap. Not because the cleaning
made me dirty, but because I opened the last bar of shower soap
last week, and we are out. HH went to Wal*Mart Sunday evening.
Did he buy soap? Let me answer for you: NO! Why would he buy
anything we NEED?
I also had to go to the bank to deposit some check HH dragged
home. I don't know what it's for. He must have charged something
for work on our credit card, and now they're paying him back.
His car won't drive to the bank, you know. Only mine knows the
way. And wouldn't you know it, both drive-thrus were closed. Hey,
it's a small town, people. The only one open was the commercial
lane, and it had a line. So I had to go inside. I hate that. There are
always 5 tellers on break, and one working. As I drove into the
parking lot, after driving around the block to get back to it since the
drive-thru was busy, a car came in the exit and whipped in front of
my large SUV to take the spot I was headed for. I had to park
beside it. A crazy man got out and went in ahead of me.
I left the kids in the car. OK, so there's this little law against doing
that in Missouri, but I left the car on so they could run the air
conditioning, and that is better than having them whining and
hanging all over me in the bank line. It's not like there were going
to be any policemen around a bank. That's how they get robbed
so easy. Anyhoo...there was one teller working. The crazy guy
had gone off to the desk people who open accounts or just act
busy and high and mighty. They looked a bit panicked. He was
carrying a plastic bag full of something, and talking with a speech
impediment about having free Papa John's pizza coupons for
everybody, how many could he leave? One deskie said she didn't
handle that, and called another deskie over, who asked him what
was going on, and I didn't hear the rest because I got a teller.
It was my lucky day, because a teller magically appeared and
smiled, and I handed her the check and deposit slip. It took all
of 15 seconds to get my receipt. I noticed a "Teller of the Week"
plaque on her booth. Which made me wonder...it was Monday
at 12:23, was she so chipper in 3 1/2 hours of work that they
voted her the honor? #1 son said "Mom, they vote on it at the
end of the day on Friday, and then she gets it all this week." He
talked to me like I was Ralph Wiggums. He of "I eat paste",
Lisa Simpson's future husband.
From the bank, we headed to Wal*Mart for the soap and some
paper plates. I'm hosting the Big Blogger afterparty, you know.
I picked up some ice cream, because what's a party without
ice cream, and some whipped cream because what's ice cream
without whipped cream if you've got some overripe bananas
(sorry Aus-friends, they're like flying ants at the Diva homestead
around these parts) and a jar of cherries just sitting on the kitchen
counter begging "Make a banana split...do it NOW!"
It took about 5 minutes to walk from one side of the store to the
other and gather our scavenger items. It took about 20 minutes
in line. Remember that old slogan "At Wal*Mart, you're always
next in line"? I was next in line...at one of 4 checkouts with a real
live human being. Live may be a bit of an exaggeration. The lady
in front of me only had a couple jugs of some fruit drink and some
soda and water and an extra-large toddler in her cart. I don't
even think they charged her for the toddler. My checker was
older than the hills. Older than me and Mabel put together, with
HH and my mom and my grandma added in.
I told her I'd put the ice cream and whipped cream in one of those
brown freezer bags after she scanned them. The bossy old heifer
told me to open the brown bag and set it in the plastic bag because
that worked well. Duh! I guess she packs her suitcase in a trunk
when she travels. I had more than one brown bag, because I
wanted the stuff in separate bags because I fold them over and
they stay colder. Bossy Lou Heifer put it all in one brown bag.
So I took my other brown bag out, intending to separate the items
in the car. Bossy Lou became agitated. "You could have left that.
I'll use it on the next customer." Hey! Let them get their own free
Wal*Mart freezer bag! She was very cold to me as she hoofed
over my receipt. That's the way the brown bag bounces, Bossy.
Get over it.
After gathering my unattended children from the Wal*Mart game
room (HEY! They only got to in there for the 20 minutes I was
in line--I could see them fighting the whole time I was waiting)
we proceeded to Sonic for a round of corn dogs and Cherry
Diet Cokes. Then we had to go to the Citgo for some ice, and
who buys ice without lottery tickets? Not this ol' hillbilly. I cashed
in $20 worth of winners for that amount in tickets. My little lucky
#2 son won on 3 out of 4 of his tickets for a total of $17. Almost
even Steven, but not quite.
When I got back home after my 3 hour shopping trip, I was not
in a cleaning mood. 3 hours! I could have taken the Gilligan's
Island boat tour for that amount of time. Of course, I'd still be
on that island, but I don't think there was much cleaning to do
there, what with throwing away the coconut shell cups every
time you used them, and not needing to wash clothes because
they either wore the same thing everyday, Gilligan and Skipper,
you know I'm a-talkin' to YOU, or waiting until a new trunk
full of movie star clothes washed up on shore, Ginger.
Maybe I'll try the cleaning thing again today. Maybe not.
start with folding some laundry and doing the dishes. Then I had to
make a trip to Wal*Mart for some soap. Not because the cleaning
made me dirty, but because I opened the last bar of shower soap
last week, and we are out. HH went to Wal*Mart Sunday evening.
Did he buy soap? Let me answer for you: NO! Why would he buy
anything we NEED?
I also had to go to the bank to deposit some check HH dragged
home. I don't know what it's for. He must have charged something
for work on our credit card, and now they're paying him back.
His car won't drive to the bank, you know. Only mine knows the
way. And wouldn't you know it, both drive-thrus were closed. Hey,
it's a small town, people. The only one open was the commercial
lane, and it had a line. So I had to go inside. I hate that. There are
always 5 tellers on break, and one working. As I drove into the
parking lot, after driving around the block to get back to it since the
drive-thru was busy, a car came in the exit and whipped in front of
my large SUV to take the spot I was headed for. I had to park
beside it. A crazy man got out and went in ahead of me.
I left the kids in the car. OK, so there's this little law against doing
that in Missouri, but I left the car on so they could run the air
conditioning, and that is better than having them whining and
hanging all over me in the bank line. It's not like there were going
to be any policemen around a bank. That's how they get robbed
so easy. Anyhoo...there was one teller working. The crazy guy
had gone off to the desk people who open accounts or just act
busy and high and mighty. They looked a bit panicked. He was
carrying a plastic bag full of something, and talking with a speech
impediment about having free Papa John's pizza coupons for
everybody, how many could he leave? One deskie said she didn't
handle that, and called another deskie over, who asked him what
was going on, and I didn't hear the rest because I got a teller.
It was my lucky day, because a teller magically appeared and
smiled, and I handed her the check and deposit slip. It took all
of 15 seconds to get my receipt. I noticed a "Teller of the Week"
plaque on her booth. Which made me wonder...it was Monday
at 12:23, was she so chipper in 3 1/2 hours of work that they
voted her the honor? #1 son said "Mom, they vote on it at the
end of the day on Friday, and then she gets it all this week." He
talked to me like I was Ralph Wiggums. He of "I eat paste",
Lisa Simpson's future husband.
From the bank, we headed to Wal*Mart for the soap and some
paper plates. I'm hosting the Big Blogger afterparty, you know.
I picked up some ice cream, because what's a party without
ice cream, and some whipped cream because what's ice cream
without whipped cream if you've got some overripe bananas
(sorry Aus-friends, they're like flying ants at the Diva homestead
around these parts) and a jar of cherries just sitting on the kitchen
counter begging "Make a banana split...do it NOW!"
It took about 5 minutes to walk from one side of the store to the
other and gather our scavenger items. It took about 20 minutes
in line. Remember that old slogan "At Wal*Mart, you're always
next in line"? I was next in line...at one of 4 checkouts with a real
live human being. Live may be a bit of an exaggeration. The lady
in front of me only had a couple jugs of some fruit drink and some
soda and water and an extra-large toddler in her cart. I don't
even think they charged her for the toddler. My checker was
older than the hills. Older than me and Mabel put together, with
HH and my mom and my grandma added in.
I told her I'd put the ice cream and whipped cream in one of those
brown freezer bags after she scanned them. The bossy old heifer
told me to open the brown bag and set it in the plastic bag because
that worked well. Duh! I guess she packs her suitcase in a trunk
when she travels. I had more than one brown bag, because I
wanted the stuff in separate bags because I fold them over and
they stay colder. Bossy Lou Heifer put it all in one brown bag.
So I took my other brown bag out, intending to separate the items
in the car. Bossy Lou became agitated. "You could have left that.
I'll use it on the next customer." Hey! Let them get their own free
Wal*Mart freezer bag! She was very cold to me as she hoofed
over my receipt. That's the way the brown bag bounces, Bossy.
Get over it.
After gathering my unattended children from the Wal*Mart game
room (HEY! They only got to in there for the 20 minutes I was
in line--I could see them fighting the whole time I was waiting)
we proceeded to Sonic for a round of corn dogs and Cherry
Diet Cokes. Then we had to go to the Citgo for some ice, and
who buys ice without lottery tickets? Not this ol' hillbilly. I cashed
in $20 worth of winners for that amount in tickets. My little lucky
#2 son won on 3 out of 4 of his tickets for a total of $17. Almost
even Steven, but not quite.
When I got back home after my 3 hour shopping trip, I was not
in a cleaning mood. 3 hours! I could have taken the Gilligan's
Island boat tour for that amount of time. Of course, I'd still be
on that island, but I don't think there was much cleaning to do
there, what with throwing away the coconut shell cups every
time you used them, and not needing to wash clothes because
they either wore the same thing everyday, Gilligan and Skipper,
you know I'm a-talkin' to YOU, or waiting until a new trunk
full of movie star clothes washed up on shore, Ginger.
Maybe I'll try the cleaning thing again today. Maybe not.
posted by Hillbilly Mom at 1:08 AM
5 Comments:
I was just thinking this morning that I think I'm going to hire someone to come in and clean my house. Just once. And if she can get it clean, maybe I can keep it clean....I mean, if I have to pay her won't that make me want to not ever do that again?
Yeah. That's my theory.
I really hate mopping and right now all three kids are stuck to the kitchen floor, whining and flailing their arms, asking me to please mop so they'll unstick. The whining's wearing on me, but at least they're not making a mess.
Diva,
Where's Carlos when you need him? At least the kitchen floor will help you cut down on those duct tape expenses.
If you need something to make you vaccum may I recommend combining 1 rubber tree plant and 1 16week old boxer left alone all day for the first time! Now that's inspiration!!!
I don't know who I would have been more annoyed with, the parking space stealer, or the bossy heifer.
It's a frickin' bag. Wal*Mart probably gets 10,000 for a buck or something obnoxious like that. Somebody was on a power trip there.
Hmph.
Mrs.,
I need someone to vacuum my front porch, because my poopies love to chew things. When they are not chewing the boards of the porch itself, they have a favorite skull that they wrestle with. Its teeth are scattered around waiting for my bare feet. The have various sticks and rocks from the rock garden. Why can't they go to the creek and get their OWN rocks? And just yesterday, they had a pink little girl's shirt they had shredded. I mean the shirt was pink, I assume the little girl was as well, what with going without her shirt in the sun and all. I first thought it was a shop towel, but it was a shirt. I am not looking forward to the vigilantes with flaming torches when they find out where the poopies live.
Chick,
I was mad about the parking spot, because I played by the rules, and she came in the exit and drove the wrong way. Thank the Gummi Mary I didn't have parking lot rage, because my SUV was way larger than her little red compact.
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