White Trash Bob doesn't text. He thinks he does. He even sends texts sometimes. But those texts are so random and cryptic that they almost always necessitate a phone call, so I stand by my original pronouncement: White Trash Bob doesn't text. As proof, I offer the following.
WTB: Drain pipe in yard?
Me: Yes. Do you need it?
WTB: No I could not find where it fell off your hour
WTB: House not hour.
Me: It didn't. Floyd gave it to me.
No answer. From this conversation I gather that WTB was wandering either through the alley or through my yard, saw the drain pipe, and thought something needed fixing. What makes this funny to me is the reason Floyd (my next-door neighbor) gave me the drain pipe in the first place:
because last summer WTB said my downspouts needed to be re-routed.
So when Floyd and Gwen had their gutters and downspouts replaced, they gave me a long piece of drain pipe to use in WTB's downspout re-routing project. A project he's apparently forgotten about.
That's okay though. Between the front parlor picture rail, the floor refinishing, and the long-delayed bathroom remodel (which will happen later this year, although not as I'd originally envisioned it) I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot of WTB.