He Ain't Exactly Bear Grylls

I have grown tired of Feeble H's shenanigans.

Friday, he was due to pick up #1 at a school event around 9:00 p.m. I was home with the unswined Pony all day. Feeble H had planned to drive his truck to work that morning, since he had a bunch of junk to haul home. Junk. Actual junk. Because sometimes, he is F Sanford H. Due to the heavy rain and flooding Friday morning, Feeble H drove his car.

Upon arriving home from work, Feeble H announced that he was getting in his truck and driving back to work, a distance of 30 miles and 40 minutes. I questioned whether he would be alone in loading his junk, as one never knows what catastrophe might befall Feeble H. He assured me that he would have one of the workers with him when he went to load his junk at the abandoned building across town. The whole plan sounded fishy to me. But Feeble H is not one for logic.

I heard a gunshot about 15 minutes after Feeble H left. So I called him. "Where are you?" Feeble didn't even bother to be civil. "I TOLD you I was going back to work to load my junk." Feeble H declared that I was hearing things or crazy, since nobody was over by the BARn shooting. Stranger things have happened. Just a couple of weeks ago, Feeble H told me that his Number One Son was bringing his elementary-school daughter out here to hunt deer on the Mansion grounds. I thought that perhaps he was giving her shooting lessons, unbeknownst to me. Nope. Feeble H said I was hearing things.

The next I heard from Feeble H was about 30 minutes later, after I had prepared supper for The Pony and me, and was just sitting down to eat. Seems that Feeble H had locked himself out of his truck, and needed me to look for my truck keys. Since I only drive the truck about once a year, when Feeble H is servicing my vehicle for some malfunction, I did not know what the truck key looked like. Feeble H was spitting his venom into the airwaves, decreeing that I must be the confounded stupidest woman on the planet. All this because I described an unknown key on my keyring, extra-long with grooves on both sides, and a square head. Feeble H had a fit because it did not say FORD on it, and I didn't have a round key to go with it, though there was a suspicious unknown smaller key with the keys I knew. As I told him, it's a key of the type formed and sold by THE DEVIL at his Playground, and so is the smaller unknown key. After asking me about 5 times if there were grooves on both sides, which I had already informed him in the affirmative, Feeble H blew a gasket. He said that his Number One Son was coming out to get those keys and bring them to his work, but that he might just go ahead and break the back window out of his truck, because it didn't sound like the right key. That's Feeble H's logic. Don't wait to make sure it's the wrong key. Break a window out of the truck.

After The Pony handed off all my keys except T-Hoe's key (because I couldn't get them off the keyring and T-Hoe was separate) to Feeble H's Number One Son, I got a call from Feeble H that he had told his Number One Son not to waste the gas driving up there, because he had pried open the back window with a screwdriver that a guy from work had brought over to him. How Feeble H squirmed himself through that sliding back window is still a mystery. But not the fact that he had been at that building ALONE, and had locked his keys in the truck while it was running. That's why he wouldn't bite on my suggestion that he leave the truck overnight and have his Number One Son bring him home so he could look for the spare key.

Oh, and today, Feeble H was down in the woods with The Pony and his Number One Son and granddaughters, wanting to roast some hot dogs that we didn't have, because even though I go to the store every weekend, nobody ever knows what they want me to buy. He heard gunshots. So did I. Feeble H thinks it was the people who shot up his MiniMansion with him in it. He said he was going down there to have a talk with them about their shooting background. Since he IS Feeble H, I warned him to go down the road, not walk through the woods.

Feeble H. How he's survived this long, I'll never know.