Weeks ago now, Dianna made a polite, simple request of Mr. Fill:
Could you please ask Phil about the chances of me getting hubby to go for child #4 through an as-yet-unnamed-country-but-definitely-our-previous-adoption-agency??? He usually tries to please me in all things (an excellent quality in a husband) but is being peculiarly stubborn about things like retirement and college funds. I’m starting to be concerned…
Now, you’d think after all his hullabaloo over being forgotten and not appreciated, blah, blah, blah, he would have jumped right on that request, wouldn’t you? Well, I would. But he didn’t.
Today, however, I made a little hullabaloo of my own and reminded him of his public and his responsibilities, and of that fact that if he wants to keep his job he has to do his job. He seems to be losing sight of that principal. I think he’s been in the U.S. too long now.
Anyway, after telling him to shape up or ship out, and listening to his tirade about how a bloke can’t catch a *#%!!@ break, I got him to come out of his house.
As you can clearly see, there is no shadow, which is good news for Dianna. Yay!!!!!
However, in the interest of full disclosure, I must admit that the rules were broken and Phullabaloney Fill did not come out of his house at the appointed 11 a.m. hour, but, rather, more like the 6 p.m. hour. Had he come out at the proper time, there would have been a big old shadow. So, in short, no promises as to the accuracy of said prediction.
I was explaining to Phullabaloney that this behavior really is unacceptable when he interrupted me with an expletive-filled sob story about how he had been ignored for so long that he began pursuing other interests in life, and I have no right to expect him to suddenly change his schedule so that he can rise early to exit his abode for a public that doesn’t really care about him anyway.
He told me he’s trying to figure out a way to keep his job and continue his late nights clubbing with his “mates.”
The mind reels.
I asked him who exactly these mates are, and where exactly they go clubbing around here. I mean, for pete’s sake, there isn’t even a Target within a 40 mile radius, and the groundhog is clubbing? He acted like he was about to explain all of this to me, but then his late night apparently got the best of him.
The dog snorffling and slobbering finally revived him, so I once again pressed Mr. Fill about his new friends and hobby. Rather than answer me, however, he just kind of danced his way back into his hut while humming a little tune.
It all mysteriously resembled “The Boot Scootin’ Boogie,” so I think maybe he’s actually country line dancing more than he is clubbing. Obviously he’s not nearly as worldly as he like to think he is.
My my guess is Mr. Fill and some of the local raccoons are sneaking in to the Auto Body/Shoe Repair shop after hours and cranking the radio; but who knows?
If you have a request, don’t be afraid to ask. I’ll drag him out on time next time.
And George . . .