No, No, Throw MOMMA From the Train

Oh Phans of Phinny. I suck, yay verily. For the past few days Phin has been ringing with one query 'Have you posted yet??' And I'm all like 'Dude!! Totally working on it'

I'm crap, clearly.

The reason Phin is so adamant that I post just now is that Great Things are Afoot!

Courtesy of his youngest child.

And the Harpaic Wonder, of course. Without whom none of this fucking INSANITY would be possible.

So. We use the H word when describing her lordship for a reason. That reason is twofold (Does that even make sense? I don't bloody know, it's 7 AM and I haven't slept yet. Thus!-we shall pretend it does). First is the obvious SPOT ON mythological connotations [Greek Mythology. One of several loathsome, voracious monsters with the head and trunk of a woman and the tail, wings, and talons of a bird]. Secondly is the fact that she harps on everything over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over. And over.

How annoying was that to read, ladies and gents?

Well just imagine being stuck in a room with her while she goes on and on and over and over. Never meandering from the same base argument-- repeating everything she's just said as if she's on a loop sequence pre-set for 10 minute replays.

Better yet--imagine being stuck in a CAR with her when she's on one of her little rants. I know that because it's happened to me--and when ignoring her doesn't work--and telling her to fuck off doesn't work--there is just the wistful staring out of the window and wondering if you can manage to jump out of a car going 60 mph. Or if you might get lucky and drop dead of a heart attack. Or some such.

And it is just such an event which brings me here to you today.

You see, a week or so ago, Phin's youngest--in the midst of one of H's non-stop nag sessions--said 'Och. Sod this. I'm hopping out of the car'

While it was still moving.

Now. In all fairness the car wasn't going very fast and it was approaching a stop sign, which is why the kid thought to do this to begin with. Problem is, when the H is mad, she tends to speed up.

And at the very last minute the child thought to herself 'What the hell am I doing? I can't hop out of this van--even if it *is* going slow!'

Alas!--it was too late. She managed to trip over her feet and right out the van door. Even though she'd changed her mind about being stuntwoman of the year. Her klutziness was rewarded with two very broken arms, as she'd thrown them out in front of her to stop her head from becoming good friends with the local asphalt.

She is, aside from her two busted wings, quite good. A quick surgery on each arm--and eight weeks in casts and she'll be right as rain. And I shall get into the whytos and wherefores of both sides of the Alleged Argument that prompted her to take her tiptoe through the concrete Tulips in my next post.

For the moment, though, I wish to leave you with a few Gems Harpaic.

Now let me say now that, no matter the circumstances of how the child got hurt, I can understand being annoyed at their complete stupidity--anyone could. That being said, though, when you are sitting in the hospital with said child, who, if you'll recall, has two broken frickin'
arms, is in sever pain and drugged to the hilt, and that child says 'Mommy, can you fix my blankets?' The answer is NOT 'I don't feel like it right now' And then busying yourself with texting and taking pictures of the kid on your cellphone to send to everyone in your address book!

Unless you're the H, it seems.

She is apparently going for mother of the year. For not more than a few days later the child had the aforementioned surgery. Upon coming home, the child had to pee like nobodys business, apparently. We are talking not more than 4 or 5 hours post-op.

Anyone care to guess what dear old H's answer was?

Answers on a postcard!

~~~~Typhoidmarie