After yesterday’s debacle, there were a thousand (actually 1015) dead chickens to pick up. I was long gone to the job that pays something (but I had to ride home through thunderstorms, so it’s all even), so Mrs. Fetched rounded up The Boy and some other denizens of the trailer to help out. Afterwards, he came up to the manor and Mrs. Fetched asked him how things were going. He delivered himself of a laundry list:
1) A friend of his asked if he could stay there too, and he agreed. A week later, he’s told the guy to “get off his ass and get a job, he’s not freeloading off of me.”
2) Snippet skipped school today, complaining of “heavy cramps,” but was somehow OK to go swimming.
3) “I’m the only one who cleans up the place, and I’m tired of it!”
Yes, that hysterical cackling noise you might have heard this evening was probably Mrs. Fetched and me…