It’s been peaceful around here the last week. No one is asking for large sums of money for camp or computer equipment or remembering a project at 11 pm and they need specific gel pens and graph paper; nor are they wrecking cars or staying out until 3am and coming in suspiciously smelling of alcohol.
Now if Wally and Beav would just keep it together we would have the perfect household.
I jest. I jest. If I came in smelling of alcohol it would be about six hours before 3 am and TG doesn’t have to ask me for Jesus camp money, she could just pay for it herself and she has gel pins and graph paper.
It’s nice to be a boring mom of a teenager who does his homework and will speak to me over and above a grunt or grimace. It feels good to have a young adult who is engaged in a job. Yeah it’s a crap McJob but it’s a job and he’s happy so there you have it. And it’s peaceful having a dog that doesn’t start asking for dinner at 4:30 because the time has changed and it’s almost dark.
The only hiccup in this scenario is something is eating my tomatoes and it isn’t human. I’m not sure what it is but it can climb or burrow under the fence we built to keep Kipper out of the garden. Too bad I’m a law abiding citizen otherwise I would set up a little camp site next to the garden and keep watch over my late ripening heirlooms and when I saw the menace eating my produce I would shoot it. Dead. With a gun.
I’m not all about the NRA and my right to bear arms. Guns scare me and strangers with guns scare me more. I have a few friends in Texas who I know keep an arsenal in their homes and probably carry under their coats and in their trucks. And frankly I would trust any of them with their weapons drunk or sober. I’m glad those types have guns because they have taken the time to learn how to safely discharge a weapon and probably aren’t going to shoot an innocent stranger. Hell, a couple of them would probably balk at the idea of shooting a raccoon. Bloody fat help they would be in this situation. I just won’t ask them. Anyhow, if I did shoot my garden nemesis I would no doubt be arrested for it and that would cost way more than buying a bushel of heirloom tomatoes from one of the many Boutique Farmer’s Markets in town. I’m a little peeved over this law, too. I mean what about urban chickens being threatened by foxes. If I’m allowed to keep chickens, I should be allowed to kill unwanted wild life that encroaches on my property. Ok, maybe not kill it but scare it off because I doubt I could hit the broadside of a barn. But Wally…he’s a pretty good marksman, he could get the little bugger. . .
If we lived in Fort Worth Texas this probably wouldn’t be an issue, the cops would probably come over and high five me because I killed a raccoon eating my backyard crops. Hell, those guys roughed up gay guys on the 40th anniversary of the beginning of the gay rights movements so killing a varmint within the city limits is fair game. (so to speak, I‘m gonna let that pun just bask in its punny glory). They might even want to take it home for supper.
Have I trotted out enough politically incorrect stereotypes? I think I have a few to go but I‘ll stop with that one. I need to put the computer away and run over to Walmart, just to take a look around the sporting goods section. For a soccer ball. You know a soccer ball. For Wally.
Gosh I hope a gun and ammo doesn’t fall in my basket next to that soccer ball.
Addendum: 20 minutes later:
I noticed the time as I typed that last sentence and had to dash downstairs to put dinner in the oven. Beav made queso dip to take to Young Life tonight and it’s in a glass Pyrex dish on top of the stove. It’s getting a little too toasty on the top and starting to boil. I didn’t bother to look if the burner was on under it and assumed it was still cooking because it was on the stove which lives over the the now hot oven. I grab two pot holders and pull it off and place it on a room temperature trivet.
Yeah…it went boom and I’m really lucky I didn’t get cheese on my cute new blouse or glass in my face. Of course Beav isn’t speaking to me because now he can’t take his “World Famous Queso” to the party. I offered to dash to the store so we could redo it. I offered to buy a cheese cake at fancy grocery store…but no…not good enough. So I’ve ruined his life.
All because I was talking smack about harming tiny woodland creatures who are just trying to get fill their bellies before winter.
coonie found here