Dumb as...

Word Count: 960

 

    I looked behind me, over both shoulders.  No one in sight, why were all those women and little girls casting furtive glances in my general direction?  And, more importantly why weren’t my wife and daughter?  I was calmly sitting on the rickety wooden bleachers outside the arena, minding my very own business, no one else’s.  I had done my part, I’d hooked up the trailer, I’d helped load the stupid horses, I had driven to the 4H meeting event thing, I’d parked, I’d been quiet.  I hadn’t embarrassed anyone; at least I was pretty sure I hadn’t.  I looked down and checked, my pants were zipped.  My wife leaned down and said something to my daughter; they both looked at me and smiled.  This can’t be good, I thought.

    Cami, our daughter, disengaged from the group and came towards me, six years old and thirty-eight pounds of pure love, she knew I was wrapped around her proverbial little finger.  Crap, this really can’t be good.  The entire group of girls and their mothers had turned and were watching, they must think there is going to be a good show or something.  She stopped at the bleachers and removed her cowboy hat, blonde pigtails now swinging freely; I am a sucker for pigtails.  With her little wranglers and little cowboy boots she came up and sat next to me, her green eyes boring into me as if she already knew the outcome of what was coming.

    “Daddy?”  Oh man, this isn’t good.  “We need some help with our trail trials, would you please help us?”

    I was like a fish in a bowl of snot, slippery but nowhere to go.  “What do you need honey?”

    From the corner of my eye I saw my wife relax, the others mothers looked at her, likewise, they relaxed.  @$#&, I’m done, might as well poke me with a fork.  A few of the more astute girls smiled, one mother smirked.

    “Well Daddy, we need somewhere to hang our coats as we get the mail, see we have the mail box,” she pointed at a mailbox atop a four by four with a base that stood on the ground.

    “Yes and a very nice mailbox it is.”

    “Daddy…”  There was a bit of exasperation in her voice, “we need a post to hang our coats on after we take them off so we can open the mail box, take out the mail, close the mailbox and then put our coats back on.”

    I could see where this was going and it did not look good.  “Honey, I don’t have a post with me, and there are none at home either, sorry, why don’t you hang your coats on the gate post?”

    She looked at me, gauging how long it would be before I did her bidding.  “The post needs to be next to the mailbox.”

    “Well put the mailbox next to the gate.”

    “The mailbox needs to be over there,” she pointed, and continued before I could say anything.  “It’s the rules it just has to be over there.”

    “You know it really isn’t that cold, are you sure you need a coat?”

    “Daddy.”

    “Well how about you just leave your coat on?  If it’s cold enough for a coat, why would you take it off to get the mail?”

    “Daddy, it’s the rules we just have to do it that way because.”  She grabbed my arm and looked imploringly at me; she knew how to deal with fish in a bowl of snot.

    I heaved a mighty sigh; there was a snicker from Mrs. Miller.

    “Why don’t you ask Mr. Miller, he’s pretty dim?”

    There were several suppressed giggles from the group of women, and one ‘harrumph’ and a snort.

    “Come on Daddy, please?  Please?”

    “Okay, okay, what do I do?”  I sighed.

    She took my hand and led me to the mailbox, “Just stand here, you don’t have to move or anything.  Actually Daddy, you aren’t supposed to move or make any noise, so don’t say anything, okay?”

    “Yeah, yeah, yeah, you know I don’t like horses right?”

    “I know Daddy.”

    “You know I am scared of horses right?”

    “I know Daddy.”

    She was alarmingly like her mother.  “Okay just so you know.” 

    I stood quietly still as nine girls separately rode their horse up to me, took off their jacket and hung it on my head.  Then I could hear the mail box open and close, then the jacket was removed from my head and they moved onto the next task.  Well, except for one.  A young lady who had a bit too much horse for her skills.  Sarah and Spitzer came, jumping, running, and snorting in my direction with Sarah yelling, “Whoa, Spitzer, stop, STOPSPITZERSTOP, MOMMY!”  I bolted, as fast as I could.  Shamelessly I ran in the opposite direction to a chorus of “Look out Mr. Hobbs,” and “Run John Run.”  The only injury suffered was to my pride, but how much pride can a post have anyway?

    When the girls had finished the mothers announced that they would now go through the same exercise.  I tried to gather what little self respect and dignity I had left and announced, “I think not.”  I then slunk back to the bleachers and firmly planted my butt on the weathered wood.

    At dinner that evening Cami recounted the hilariously amusing episode to her elder brother. 

    I saw the wheels turning, the thought process clearly visible on his face, the twinkle in his eyes growing.  “Isn’t there something like that you always say Dad?  How does it go?  Something like, oh wait, I remember now.  You say it a lot.  ‘Dumb as a post’, that’s it, right Dad?”

    It wasn’t really a question.

Word Count:960