Sing ho for the life of a pig*

It turns out that I’m very grateful for the expired canned ham, because it has provided a little bit of material, which is hard to come by.  Not just material, but stuff I can actually write about here.  For example, this dispute is still going on, but the people involved are actually kind of scary.  I met each of them again yesterday --- him because he complained that she was digging out the stream, directing more water to her side, and her because, well, I’m not sure why, but I do know that they’re going to court today, and generally creating conflict and acrimony where there should be brownies and neighborhood barbecues.  As an example, one party asked yesterday, “Is there a law that says I can’t put 10 signs in the stream buffer?  They need to face the stream because I want people going by in the water to see them.  Where is it in code that I can’t have the signs?”  (By the way, this is not the Mississippi River; it doesn’t get any water traffic.  Ever.  These signs are only seen by the neighbor.)

The point that I wished to make but didn’t is, um, there’s no law against tapping your foot in an annoying way, but if someone in your space finds it annoying, could you just stop?  But see, here I am writing about these people again, which seems like a Bad Idea, due to all the suing and counter-suing and restraining orders that are going down.

So maybe you can understand my new found appreciation for the ham.  The other day in the grocery store, the woman in front of me in line asked the clerk about her lambs.  I was sort of spacing in and out of their conversation until the clerk said, “yeah, I’m gonna try castrating them myself again this year.  Last year, it didn’t work out so well – I got one testicle on one ram, and none on the other.  I didn’t realize it at the time.” 

This is the kind of thing I wish I hadn’t overheard, because it sort of sticks with you, not in a good way, and my first thought was, dammit, that’s gonna show up on my blog, and soon it will be littering everyone elses’ brains too.  Which I will apologize for right now.  I’m sorry.  But you see my point about the ham providing material that's not about failed castration or people who are likely to sue me?  I’ve gotten some excellent suggestions about what to do with it:

Give it to a foodbank.  (I don't think they want a piece of meat that expired while George H.W. Bush was president, but I could check into it.);

Donate it to Science.  (Does Science need a dead pig that’s as old as my daughter?  Does anyone have an in with Science?)

Cut a small hole in the can, leave it in the garden, and see what happens;

Open the can, dispose of the ham properly in a food waste bin, rinse and recycle the can;

Give it to Pesha, who said she’d take care of it for me in gratitude that I’m dealing with the crazies and she thinks she might have assigned that to me.

Still accepting suggestions...


  1. First: alter the expiration date on the ham, to make it appear edible;
    Second: place the ham on the desk of the owner of the cat-pee-infused leather pants;
    Third: convert to Catholicism;
    Fourth: confess your sins (which include forcing us to read about the botched castration).

  2. Hmm, I was sort of with you til step three... but I will confess and apologize again for bringing up the botched castration.

    Maybe I could mail the ham to Maine for a little field trip?

  3. Jeez, Bets, when did you get so entertaining?

  4. I'm loving what "PC" said, but I'd like to tweek it a smidge..

    First: don't bother to alter the experiation date on the ham. (I don't think CPILP lady is a "noticer of small details")

    Second: put a bow and a card on the ham that says "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable about your pants. Please excuse my humblest apologies and this ham of reconciliation"

    Third: place the ham on the desk of the owner of the CPILP.

    Four: hide, watch gleefully, and report back to your adoring fans....

  5. I'm just about to go to bed so hope I don't dream about expired disgusting canned ham or about poor little partially castrated lambs. Betsy, how do you encounter so many odd and quirky situations? (Really fun to read though)! Issy


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