Farmer H arose bright and early on Saturday, in order to pick up a new used 4-wheeler purchased with the tax refund money. I guess it is Hillbilly Christmas here in Hillmomba. Farmer H paraded through the Mansion as usual in just his underwear. And believe me, we count that as a good thing, considering how he used to come in from the Free Hairwad Hot Tub with them slung over his shoulder. Sorry. I'm sure that can be classified as too much information.
Farmer H plopped down in the neckbreaking recliner and proceeded to put on his socks and shoes, then his pants. Yes. There IS something terribly wrong with that scenario, having to do with HH's tiny little baby feet and their workboots that could be dangled from a car's rearview mirror. Farmer H stood up to pull up his pants, which, this being Saturday and him being Farmer H, were overalls. "Would you look at that?" Farmer H asked. Though I hoped it was a rhetorical question, knowing that Farmer H has no concept of rhetorical, I forsook my better judgment and looked. Farmer H had put his overalls on backwards. Since he could not hook the straps to the bib part on his back, he took the overalls off OVER HIS BOOTS and turned them around and put them back on OVER HIS BOOTS.
The #1 son dressed himself with no problem and joined Farmer H in hooking up the trailer. This 4-wheeler purchase came three days after I casually mentioned to Farmer H that we could afford X amount of money toward a 4-wheeler. Not one to let grass grow under his feet, Farmer H took off early on Friday (no doubt because I carelessly let it slip that we had an early out from school that day) and ended up at the local cycle shop. He called us as we were returning to town from bill-paying and cake-buying and dining out. The Hillbilly family is doing their part to stimulate the economy.
In the pouring rain, the #1 son and I stood under umbrellas looking at the Kawasaki that Farmer H had described. The #1 son said it would suit our purposes. It's not a pretty thing. Army green is good enough for patrolling the grounds of the Mansion. It looks just like our old Yamaha. We hadn't been standing there two minutes when Farmer H and the salesman came out. I nodded to Farmer H, and the boy and I left to take my mom back home. I was quite worried in letting Farmer H work a deal, fearing that not only would he pay more than the sticker price, but that we would somehow end up trading in my T-Hoe. I called Farmer H and instructed him to try and get the guy to throw in a helmet, as the #1 son's head is too big for his old one.
Farmer H got the guy to knock 20% off the price, and a promise of a free $50 helmet or $50 off a new helmet. Not a bad day's work for Farmer H. Of course, when they went to pick it up, Farmer H told #1 to go pick out a helmet. When he came back with one, the salesman said, "Well, he picked a good one. That's a $139 helmet." Still, he took off the $50. You can't really put a price on your boy's noggin. I don't so much worry about him falling off or hitting a tree, but about a truck hitting him when he rides down to get the mail.
They returned home and got down to the business of breaking in that new used vehicle. Farmer H rode the old 4-wheeler. The one with the royal blue milk crate affixed to the front, the milk crate that Farmer H used to put The Pony in to ride him around, much to my horror. The #1 son has claimed this new 4-wheeler as his own, which doesn't bother me a bit, me not being inclined to ride a 4-wheeler. The Pony still has the little lime green Mongoose that needs spark plugs, and then there's the Scout that needs brakes. If we wanted, we could have a regular Hillbilly parade of off-road vehicles.
Now Farmer H is making mental plans to build a 4-wheeler garage. As soon as he gets his creek barn done.
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