Back In The Saddle

Join Mrs. Hillbilly Mom for a day on the range in the wilds of Newmentia.

The morning started with a roundup of wild paperclips. They are wily varmints. Never around when you want one, but lounging where mischief is lurking, ready to pounce. Like on the lid of the copier, just itching to dive down into the ol' Kyocera innards and bungle up the works. I corralled tens of paperclips from my throw-away pile of make-up work from last semester. Herded them right into my flat desk drawer, into a little compartment between quarters and Pink Pets.

Next on the agenda was a death-defying ride on the wildest of all broncs--the toilet in the women's faculty restroom. Something is afoot with that little filly. Her saddle is not cinched tight enough. You'd think she bloats her belly to avoid a snug fit. For the past week or so, you take life and limb into your own hands when you try to mount her during the four-minute interlude between classes. A good twist of the screwdriver should cure her of what ails us. But we have no hands willing to attempt her taming. No toilet-whisperer among us.

The chuck wagon dished up a platter of what appeared to be catfish sticks. They were rough and misshapen, not at all like the breaded bread of regular, machine-cut fish sticks. This skeptical buckaroo did not partake of the fancy fare. Nor of the apple brown betty that was swimming in a yellow fluid that may or may not have been clarified butter. Emphasis on the NOT.

Without even an afternoon siesta, I circled the computers in the lab for a bout of science project research. A wayward li'l dogie appeared on the horizon. "Can I come in here and work on my project for another class? It's not done, and my teacher said I could if you say it's OK." The last thing I needed was this little heifer getting my herd all riled up. But the quickest way to get rid of her was to agree. "If you can find a computer. But not near me. And I'm not going to help you." Because, you see, the project for MY class was also not finished, not even begun, not even a twinkle in the eye of Li'l Dogie. And what was the first thing out of her mouth? "What do I do, just turn on a computer?" Which earned the response, "You are not my responsibility." And blissfully, she faded into the herd.

Alas, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom must ride off into the sunset now, since her hurried post has wended its way to nowhere.