“Do you have any of those ‘old’ athletic socks without the elastic rim around the top?”
“Athletic socks – you know, the kind with vertical ribs, and don’t have elastic material around the top.”
“No. Never heard of them.”
“Didn’t they have them when you went to school?”
“Nope. I’m forty-one.”
Well, I got work shirts and some new Tee’s. The old Tee’s here at home have burn holes from the pipe embers. The holes are about where the burn scars on my belly are. Which makes sense when you think about it.
While I was out and about I checked up on the tractor. They’ve gotten, in the past week and a half, as far as removing two of the four hydraulic cylinders. No information was forth coming as to the progress of fixing the cylinders removed. Ruination. I hate that. If a week and a half to remove two, and there’s four, then that is three weeks. If none are repaired, and it takes two weeks to repair one, then that is eight weeks. That means I’ll get the tractor back in time to move snow, maybe.
So, on the way home, I stopped by the village office and asked them to hold any “Do Better Letter” they might think of sending me about the six foot high Johnson Grass in the pasture. I just may borrow the Renters Kawasaki Mule and spray the stuff. It’ll leave brown patches, but I’m not into beauty for the cow pasture at this point. I’ll leave that to the horse raisers.
As I was dismounting the Fleet Colored Truck at the village offices, the Village Handy man came up to me. He was accompanied by his twenty something helper. The Handy Man said he’d been down near my place and was just reporting back, his helper looked at me with sad eyes and told me he felt for me, what with my near neighbor and all. I told him I’d be happy to introduce them if he hadn’t met the near neighbor. He declined. I told him the near neighbor could hook him up with all manner of pharmies – the helper just laughed.
So, I continued on into the office and the Village Clerk (who, by the way, has just returned from Vegas) and I talked some business and then she told me the cops would be along sometime this afternoon to look at the nine or ten foot weeds the near neighbor has been growing out behind his house.
I laughed all the way home – especially since I noticed the near neighbor drove his lawn mower up and down the main drag looking in the window of the village office while I was BS’ing the folks.
Now, if the tall weed proves to be weed, and the cops tell him to pull the stuff, and the near neighbor believes I told the cops . . . Why then, he’ll try some more window breaking or window peeking and I might get a shot at him in the light of the moon.
I’ve put Number Fours in the Twelve gage and removed the plug.
From the reaches,