HH, Fried Dough, And Mabelomaniac

When they took the Pony into surgery yesterday, HH suggested that we head for the coffee/donut room. I had no idea it existed, but he had sniffed it out within 5 minutes of arrival. There was a soda machine that only cost a quarter, a fancy-shmancy coffee maker cappuccino thingy, a snack machine, and a big wooden Plexiglas-doored donut box. HH chose a cruller and a clear-icinged round donut, and I chose a chocolate-iced long john. HH also bought a Diet Coke, because nothing goes with two sugar-coated hunks of deep-fried dough like a diet soda.

We took our booty back to the glass-walled OR prep room recently vacated by the Pony to watch Scooby Doo and raise our blood sugar to alarming levels. HH told me to pull the curtain. "I don't need people watching me eat," the shrinking violet commented. After consuming my long john, I peeped out to see that the bathroom way across from the nurse's station was empty, so I opened and closed the curtain and glass door, and left HH chowing on his sugary snack. When I returned, he was swilling the last of his Diet Coke. "I might go get another donut," HH said. I looked closer. It's like when you know something is different about the picture, but can't quite figure out what. "You know, there's half a donut under your chair," I said, just to make conversation. "I didn't think I ate that whole donut," said HH.

How can you not know that you dropped half a donut under your chair??? I told my mom that story, and she said, "What did he do, nod off to sleep while he was eating it?" I can't figure that man out. Oh, and my mom said she asked my #1 son about a computer game he was playing: "Is that on the internet, or did you inject it?" So now I'm in a quandary. I was planning to send her and HH to the Pony's next doctor appointment. I told the #1 son that I'm a bit apprehensive. The Pony might come home with a cast on his leg and a rag wrapped 'round is noggin, limping along playing a fife. I don't know if the two of them are up to the task.

And now, for the story of Traitor Mabel...

I rushed to The Devil's Playground after dropping off the Pony's prescriptions at a REAL pharmacy, and while pawing through the elastic-waisted little-boy track pants, I spied Mabel chatting with the #1 son in electronics. But it wasn't just Mabel. She was with her new best friend, Math Crony! Oh, how it hurts to see my Mabel so brazenly two-timing me! She even came up to me to rub salt in the fresh wound.

I have seen it coming for a while now. Mabel rarely drops in to chat 1st Hour. I tried to tell myself that it's because I have a REAL class now, and she doesn't want to interrupt the instructional process. I have tried to stay in touch with Mabel. Do I not call her every time I want to complain about someone? Do I not drop in to her classroom after school for 5 minutes once a week? But NOOOO! Mabel must rush off to work out, or Mabel is busy talking to Math Crony, or Mabel is busy building a new society with the custodian. I can't help it that Mabel and Math Crony have adjoining rooms. You know what they say: familiarity breeds dumping your old best friend and hooking up with a new best friend.

I have been replaced. Mabel never took ME shopping at The Devil's Playground. Am I not human? Do I not need to shop? So I missed her birthday every year for 6 years in a row. That doesn't mean I don't care. Come back, Mabel! I am worthy. If need be, I will work all day with a pair of flowered panties hanging out the left leg of my jeans. See? I can be like Math Crony. Give me another chance. I'm betting that Math Crony does not write a personal blog for you every night. Is that not worth a best-friendship? Think it over, Mabel. Think about it right before you fall asleep at 9:00 every night. There's more blog where this came from. Don't be so hasty. We can make beautiful music together if you don't sing, and I limit my vocalization to car-singing. Let's give it another shot.

Disclaimer for Mabel: you understand this is just a dramatization for blog purposes. Right? Are you there, Mabel? It's me, Hillbilly Mom. Mabel? ;)