News From Hawkhill Acres

Daughter often accuses me of providing TMI (too much information) and yesterday was no exception. It started when I came in from starting the car to warm it up for a trip to the big city. The temperature outside - or rather lack of one - was minus 3 so I didn’t linger. I raced outside, inserted the key, turned on the car’s heater to blasting and raced back in.

“Boy,” I said to Daughter, who was drawing at the table, “I am so tired of this constant tinkling.”

“TMI, Mom,” she said, putting her hands over her ears.

“Well, that and this permanent wedgie I seem to have developed today,” I went on even though she wasn’t listening. “Talk about getting my knickers in a twist.”

Evidently she heard me and I got a “ooohhh, that is SO gross, Mom” back.

Believe me, this was a highly unusual conversation chez Hawkins. Maybe because my kids don’t go to school and I’m not big on making fun of bodily functions, we rarely make fart jokes or snicker at someone’s really impressive burp. Even when I was a kid, I didn’t get that kind of thing. Too practical and down to earth, I guess. So someone burps or passes gas. Big deal. Wedgies? Only if they’re potato wedges, thankyouveddymuch.

But my undies were feeling like they were two sizes too small and every time I’d gone  outside that morning, I heard this weird tinkling sound. When I filled the bird feeder, it was there in the background, as if maybe the red squirrels had started wearing chandelier earrings or the chickadees were sporting ankle bracelets with tiny charms on them. It was driving me mad and I was beginning to think I might have a case of tinnitus when I realized what it was.

Before I went out the first time that morning, I’d taken a shower as usual. However, I was in a hurry, so I didn’t dry my hair completely. I hate the hair dryer, so I only use it when I absolutely have to - like when it’s minus something outside and I have to go out. So I’d gone out with slightly damp hair and it froze. The tinkling sound I heard was my frozen hair, which had turned into little strands of icicles, hitting my glasses and my earrings and probably my thick skull. Sheesh!

The wedgie? Well, I didn’t sort that out until I took off my clothes for the night. As I threw my dirty clothes in the hamper, I saw the writing on the underpants, as it were. The printing said that they were Daughter’s size, which is two sizes smaller than mine.

This morning, I told her about it, expecting to get a TMI and some eye-rolling. Nope. She snickered and then she snorted and then she laughed hysterically and ran to email her friend about it. Since her friend’s mother is the local equivalent of CNN, I suppose by lunchtime, everyone I know will be talking about the idjit who wore her daughter’s undies for a whole day and didn’t know it. Well, I for one think that’s just TMI.