Thursday, May 10, 2007

The Unusual Suspects

When we last left Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, she was trying to adjust to her recent adoptees, Pete and Repete. Those guys held the door quite nicely for Mrs. HM, even though it took both of them to do the job of one. Mrs. HM was mulling over the evidence, on her eternal quest for justice. The very next morning, there was a break in the case.

First cat out of the bag, Mabel sang a tune of discovery. That cat ran up and down the hall, to the tune of multiple missing doorstops warbling, "Take, take me home...cause I don't remember..." Seems there had been a big shindig, and doors needed to be propped open. A mass abduction ensued. After serving so valiantly, our doorstop brethren were forgotten. Perhaps many more doorstops than Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's were stranded and abandoned. But Mrs. HM's was not missing from that date, only recently. That clue was a dead end. Thanks for the big, steaming bowl o' nuthin', Mabel.

Next, who should appear but the student-accused entity, and her sidekick. Not thinking exactly what I was saying, I greeted them with, "I'm so mad! My doorstop disappeared when That Inconsiderate Group used my classroom." And the sidekick replied, "I HATE IT WHEN THAT HAPPENS!" So forceful was her exclamation that I did not know if she was funnin' with me, or really, truly incensed. She went on to elaborate that since she was near the main area of the building, people always took her doorstop first. I almost sympathized with her...I really did...until...she said, "So you know what I do? I just go take one to replace it." OH, OH OH! Mr. Kottaiirrr! Pick me! Pick me! I think I know who did it!

Not really. It was just a theory. A conspiracy theory. I do not really think they took my Stoppie. But it is certainly some compelling circumstantial evidence, methinks.

Oh, but the saga of Stoppie continues. I told my mom about Doorstopgate this morning on the phone. She jumped to the same conclusion. Little did I know she would arrive at school a few hours later and meet Pete and Repete in person. Seems the #2 son couldn't hold his cookies. He tossed them at school. Three times. So trusty Gammy rescued #2, and stopped by my building so I would know she had him. It's a long story. They usually call me to see what to do with my kids, but we've had a changeover, and, umm, they said they tried to call me but I wasn't home. DUH! I'm at work! HELLO!

Anyhoo, she brought in the boy, with a white plastic bowl under his chin in case he tossed a few more, and asked for my keys to get the beloved DS out of the LSUV. She saw Pete and Repete and said, "Oh. That IS sad." I hope she did not injure their fragile self-esteem. It ain't easy bein' a brokeback doorstop. Or so they tell me. When Mom came back with the keys, she popped around the corner, waving something in the air. "Look what I found," she whisper-yelled to me. It was a loooong wooden doorstop. I grabbed it and held it down by my side. "Don't you know we're on camera? Where did you get that?" I quizzed her. "Oh, I found it lying outside," she said, cool as a cucumber.

Heh, heh. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, they say. And 'they' are always right. So I took that monster and wrote 'Mrs. Hillbilly Mom' on every facet in black permanent marker. Then I stashed him in my cabinet for the day when Pete and Repete of the broken back club are on their last legs. Hey! If I didn't get him, somebody would have. I shall call him D-Stop. He's a strapping, magnificent specimen of the doorstop species. I look forward to growing old with him.

And if anyone asks where I got my big, strong D-Stop, I can honestly tell them:
"My mother gave it to me."


LanternLight said...

It's clear to me you need another Pete.

That way, you could have a "Three Pete"


Hi to (non)-imaginary Mabel as well.

Mean Teacher said...

Don't get too attached. Sounds like Basementia is as hard on doorstops as my road is on dogs and puppies.

Hillbilly Mom said...

I would love to have a ThreePete! The more, the merrier!

Mabel sends you a royal wave. You know, the kind where you bend your arm at the elbow, and slowly twist your hand back & forth so as not to jiggle the arm-fat.

The Doorstop Brigade dwells in not-Basementia, where I will be spending full days next year. But I agree that it is like your road. Why did the doorstop cross the road? We'll never know, because HE WAS SNATCHED before he reached the other side!