Friday, December 13, 2013

Good Friday the thirteenth to you.

Dog treed a black cat this morning. I’m not sure what that means.

*-

This visit Housekeeper spent almost an hour and a half (after giving me a Christmas present and extracting a promise not to open it until Christmas. She even pointed out that she’d even wrapped whatever it is in paper prohibiting opening until Christmas).

I pointed out that she was due to come back for her next appointment on the twenty-fifth of the month, so she could watch me open it.

Her answer was she wouldn’t be here on the twenty-fifth and she wouldn’t be back until after the new year, that she’d already looked up the dates and was wondering when she’d tell me.

I’m all about pretense, so I put on a pouty face and accused her of failing to meet her obligations. She took the shot well. She told me to suck it up and bear it.

Though she said, she didn’t think I’d be able to do that with any grace.

We both laughed.

Our talk drifted around to presents (I didn’t give her one. I’d told her I’d that I’d watched enough TV that I knew housekeepers wanted money rather than booze or cleaning supplies or whatever, so I’d planned to give her money to keep her happy. Her response was I didn’t need to give her anything. To which I responded, I knew that.)

(Moments later she told me I hadn’t written her check yet. Had I?)

Heh.

Rim fire ammunition is difficult to find. As soon as it hits the shelves it disappears. Housekeeper indicated that her hubby happened to be in the store when a shipment came in and purchased five bricks of .22 cal.

The entire shipment was gone that evening.

I’m happy I have the pellet rifle, but do wish I had more .22.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Whiskey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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