It is anyone’s guess how much longer Dearly Beloved is going to use the old’ “back injury” excuse. It isn’t that I doubt him, just that the Honey-Do List grows longer and longer. Much of it involves yard work.
We have been wheelbarrow-less for some time, so when I went to buy one Saturday, I decided a two-wheeler might help the ol’ folks’ backs. They sold me one already assembled, but it wouldn’t fit into the car, so I raced home to get the station wagon.
DB was outside with granddog Ivy when I turned into the driveway. He agreed to go for the wheelbarrow so that I could continue on my errands. I gave him the receipt and told him it was the blue one with the SOLD sign taped to it in front of the hardware store.
He and the wheelbarrow were already back home when I returned with the car trunk full of groceries. As is (alas!) my custom when returning from errands of any duration, I barely managed to get the car in the garage without disgracing myself, so I rushed inside to the bathroom before trying to bring in any grocery bags.
I was sitting on the throne when the front doorbell rang.
I took my time, thinking that DB would answer it, but the bell kept ringing so, ablutions completed, I finally answered the door. DB was standing on the front porch with the new wheelbarrow full of grocery bags. I don’t even want to know how he maneuvered it up the steps.
When the wheelbarrow was unpacked and as Mr. Smarty Pants was pushing it back outside, he slapped the SOLD sign on his butt. I couldn’t resist taking a picture. His lady friends at the beach–the 80+ widow neighbors who find him so charming– have already called to check on him. I may need that photo certification.
He took the wheelbarrow around to the garage and then leashed granddog Ivy for another walk, something both of them enjoy. Our neighborhood has a three-mile loop pattern that cyclers and walkers enjoy, and DB delights in having a walking partner. He and Ivy often go even farther.
When they returned, he told me they’d encountered a rather unpleasant older woman on their walk. She had reached out to pet Ivy, who had jumped–not aggressively, just excitedly. The woman snapped that she thought the dog and her father needed some training.
DB pointed out politely that he was the grandfather and that Ivy generally displayed very good manners. Grandfather and Granddog continued on their route.
Since they were walking that loop, they ran into the same woman at another point. This time she was pleasant and called out, “There is that cute dog again!” when she saw them. She petted Ivy without any problem.
As DB related the story to me, he ruefully reached into his pocket and pulled out a wadded up paper, saying that perhaps her good humor had been helped by the fact that he’d made most of the journey like this: