Yesterday, I threw a shoe.
Not with my hand. Like a horse does. Get the joke now?
My riding mower got totally bogged down in the mud. See, I have a back yard and a front yard and with all this rain the grass is outrageous in both.
The problem is, there is a low spot with actual running water that runs between front and back. And I have to get the mower across that slough of despond. Usually I get very sloppy but succeed. Yesterday, not so much. The mower got stuck, I got out to push, and the strap on one of the crappy sandals I was wearing completely ripped off as I was bracing against the machine.
I gave up and took off both shoes. Which promptly sank, and I'm not even kidding. I have no idea where they are.
At this point, the mower was irretrievably stuck and I was helpless. NYAB was not home. The YP was playing on the driveway.
"YP, c'mere!"
"OK, what?"
"Wait. Take your clothes off first."
"WHAT?"
"It's muddy. Get undressed, then come here."
"Well, OK." (Pause. Kid strips down.)
"YP, you can leave your underwear ... oh, nevermind. Just come here."
Mr. Dainty Paws picks his way over to me.
"Ewww. It IS muddy! Ew!"
"Yeah. OK, sit here and steer when I say steer."
"Which way? Make sure to tell me which way."
So he steered, and I pushed, and we looked like rednecks from hell but he did great and laughed most jubilantly when we got unstuck. It was a good afternoon. Then he went and hosed off and played in the garage til his dad got home.
Meanwhile, this memo is the latest from the school. (On a much, much lighter note than past school dealings...)
"The purpose of this letter is to inform you of a disruption that occurred this morning during student arrival and resulted in a delayed start to our instructional day. A goat somehow found its way on our school grounds. As student safety is our top priority, XX County Police, XX County Animal Control, and our School Security were on site to assist us with a safe arrival for our students. Buses were routed to the front of our building. I am pleased to report the goat was captured by animal control and taken safely to the animal shelter."
The letter goes on, but you get the point. I kind of wonder what ancestors from one or two generations back would think of this. Because me, I'm going, "Dude, you needed cops and animal control? For a goat? Was it rabid? Had it eaten a bomb? Because really, I could use a goat. You could have just called me and I would have showed up with a rope and a tin can and fed it and taken it home and made cheese."
Oh, well. I guess I'll have to buy my own goat. Maybe I can pick this one up cheeeeeap!
come to think of it, you could take the goat home and let it loose on all that overgrown grass and save yourself some grief with the mower.
Posted by: ragingstress | June 03, 2009 at 03:33 PM
one of our neighbors (well, semi-neighbors) had to pay a fine for keeping farm animals in their back yard. the animals were confiscated too. its totally lame. I want a sheep and some hens but noooooo.
Posted by: ardentdelerium | June 03, 2009 at 05:59 PM
It was a satan goat.
Posted by: lane | June 04, 2009 at 11:26 AM
I was thinking the same thing, Arwen. I was picturing a goat with a bomb vest, bleating out threats. Maybe it was a goat zombie. The possibilites are endless.
Posted by: Dionna Gregory | July 30, 2009 at 12:07 PM