My brother is on my list. You know, my "it" list. We all have these lists, and it's not through positive actions that you land on the "it" list. I'll explain later why JT has been banished (pronounced bani-shed for dramatic Shakespearian effect), but first a couple of items of background.
Early on in my relationship with M, I aggravated him purposefully. A lot. He couldn't figure it out. I wasn't mean to him, I just liked to pick at him. The car ride home after he met my brother for the first time, he confessed that now he understood perfectly. My brother has a PhD in aggravation. (Let me stop and say that I know the correct grammatical term is "irritate" not "aggravate". You can only aggravate in a medical context, but since that's the common turn-of-phrase, we're going with it.) I don't think I did that much aggravating on my own while I lived at home. Apparently though, if JT wasn't around I was perfectly capable of filling in, and I had been doing so with M. So, if you're around anyone in our family for any given period of time and are not the target of a little aggravation, we don't like you. I know it's weird, your family has skeletons too.
Second piece of background. My sweet Momma, under the direction of her brilliant husband, accepted some free dirt to be delivered to their home. The dirt was dug-up around her office to make a sidewalk and seemed ideal for doing a little irrigation and drainage work at home. So, 100 yards of dirt was dumped in various places around the house. To make the dirt suitable for use it had to be broken apart, raked of grass, and sifted of rocks and other debris. For two weeks, Big D and my Momma had been tackling this project alone during the week and coming to work on my new house on the weekends. So, we traded them a Saturday so that five people could make significant headway on the dirt project. This past Saturday myself, M, JT, Momma, and D spent the better part of six hours working on that dirt. I didn't know what muscle group in my back it would take to wield a pick-axe, but when I woke up Sunday morning I had my answer. I also got a tiny bit of insight into what my Daddy and his cousins would have experienced moving hay around in Daddy Young's barn with a pitchfork. Admittedly, he probably wouldn't have stepped in the only hole in the yard crashing into the street, pitchfork and all. He probably also wouldn't have scrapped the pitchfork across the top of his exposed foot leaving a gash. You know, just call me Grace. Most of my time was spent screening dirt. Big D made a sifter out of some wood and wire screening that fit over the wheelbarrow. He would shovel the dirt onto the screen, and I would use the back of a metal rake to sift it through. It was a large-scale version of using a metal spoon to sift cake mix into a bowl. After we filled the wheelbarrow, I'd push the dirt to its final location and D would spread it according to his master plan. He would also tell me not to step in the giant ant bed, which I would almost immediately do, resulting in several large bites on my feet and ankles. I am special.
(I will say, I was proud of myself for doing the work. I sweated profusely, was brown from head to toe, and I never quit. I hung in there with the men, and I did my fair share. I'm happy to have been able to do so.)
As I was perfecting my dirt-sifting, concentrating with laser-like focus on the task at hand, minding my OWN business, here comes JT. He casually asks what I'm doing, and although it was obvious, I answered, "screening dirt". My concentration never waivered. I had the eye of the tiger while performing my task. It was really my own fault. Twenty-seven years of on-the-job experience, and I never saw it coming. I was so honed-in on my work that I let my defenses slip, and he exploited my carelessness. Suddenly, I felt it. On my neck. It was a worm. I may have been filthy from head to toe, but KK doesn't play around when it comes to worms, crickets, frogs, or snakes. People within a 5 mile radius probably thought I was being tortured into leaking national security information the screaming was so loud. Anyone who happened to drive by either thought I had been possessed by the spirit of "I'm about to kick your tail", or would have guessed I was having a seizure. My emotions went from zero to a thousand so quickly that I couldn't do anything but stand there and cry. I called my Daddy and tattled on my big brother like I would have done when we were kids. I don't know what I expected him to do, but I barely got any sympathy. JT didn't even get in trouble. At all. Typical. We can all be assured that I'll be in full training mode from now on. Never again will I fall victim to my own inattention. And as for JT, while he didn't get grounded, or lose his TV privileges, he did manage to win himself a semi-permanent spot on the "it" list.
-Katye
Early on in my relationship with M, I aggravated him purposefully. A lot. He couldn't figure it out. I wasn't mean to him, I just liked to pick at him. The car ride home after he met my brother for the first time, he confessed that now he understood perfectly. My brother has a PhD in aggravation. (Let me stop and say that I know the correct grammatical term is "irritate" not "aggravate". You can only aggravate in a medical context, but since that's the common turn-of-phrase, we're going with it.) I don't think I did that much aggravating on my own while I lived at home. Apparently though, if JT wasn't around I was perfectly capable of filling in, and I had been doing so with M. So, if you're around anyone in our family for any given period of time and are not the target of a little aggravation, we don't like you. I know it's weird, your family has skeletons too.
Second piece of background. My sweet Momma, under the direction of her brilliant husband, accepted some free dirt to be delivered to their home. The dirt was dug-up around her office to make a sidewalk and seemed ideal for doing a little irrigation and drainage work at home. So, 100 yards of dirt was dumped in various places around the house. To make the dirt suitable for use it had to be broken apart, raked of grass, and sifted of rocks and other debris. For two weeks, Big D and my Momma had been tackling this project alone during the week and coming to work on my new house on the weekends. So, we traded them a Saturday so that five people could make significant headway on the dirt project. This past Saturday myself, M, JT, Momma, and D spent the better part of six hours working on that dirt. I didn't know what muscle group in my back it would take to wield a pick-axe, but when I woke up Sunday morning I had my answer. I also got a tiny bit of insight into what my Daddy and his cousins would have experienced moving hay around in Daddy Young's barn with a pitchfork. Admittedly, he probably wouldn't have stepped in the only hole in the yard crashing into the street, pitchfork and all. He probably also wouldn't have scrapped the pitchfork across the top of his exposed foot leaving a gash. You know, just call me Grace. Most of my time was spent screening dirt. Big D made a sifter out of some wood and wire screening that fit over the wheelbarrow. He would shovel the dirt onto the screen, and I would use the back of a metal rake to sift it through. It was a large-scale version of using a metal spoon to sift cake mix into a bowl. After we filled the wheelbarrow, I'd push the dirt to its final location and D would spread it according to his master plan. He would also tell me not to step in the giant ant bed, which I would almost immediately do, resulting in several large bites on my feet and ankles. I am special.
(I will say, I was proud of myself for doing the work. I sweated profusely, was brown from head to toe, and I never quit. I hung in there with the men, and I did my fair share. I'm happy to have been able to do so.)
As I was perfecting my dirt-sifting, concentrating with laser-like focus on the task at hand, minding my OWN business, here comes JT. He casually asks what I'm doing, and although it was obvious, I answered, "screening dirt". My concentration never waivered. I had the eye of the tiger while performing my task. It was really my own fault. Twenty-seven years of on-the-job experience, and I never saw it coming. I was so honed-in on my work that I let my defenses slip, and he exploited my carelessness. Suddenly, I felt it. On my neck. It was a worm. I may have been filthy from head to toe, but KK doesn't play around when it comes to worms, crickets, frogs, or snakes. People within a 5 mile radius probably thought I was being tortured into leaking national security information the screaming was so loud. Anyone who happened to drive by either thought I had been possessed by the spirit of "I'm about to kick your tail", or would have guessed I was having a seizure. My emotions went from zero to a thousand so quickly that I couldn't do anything but stand there and cry. I called my Daddy and tattled on my big brother like I would have done when we were kids. I don't know what I expected him to do, but I barely got any sympathy. JT didn't even get in trouble. At all. Typical. We can all be assured that I'll be in full training mode from now on. Never again will I fall victim to my own inattention. And as for JT, while he didn't get grounded, or lose his TV privileges, he did manage to win himself a semi-permanent spot on the "it" list.
-Katye
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