The Clueless Is Still Without A Clue

I came out of the garage on Saturday evening, three bags of groceries on my arm, and was shocked to see Farmer H sitting in the chair on the side porch.

"I didn't know you were here! You can at least take these bags in for me."

"I'm just drying off. Your dog has been going crazy running around looking for you."

Farmer H got up and took the bags towards the kitchen. He was wearing his Spongebob Squarepants boxers, which he uses for swimming. He got POOLIO ready this week, and had apparently taken his first dip.

"She's not looking for me! She's looking for Jack. She won't come get her treat until Jack is there."

In fact, Pupsie ran up the steps as I was trying to climb them.

"Look at you! Your feet are all wet."

"MY feet? I've been in the pool!"

"I'm not talking to you! I know your feet are wet. I'm talking to Pupsie. Probably been splashing all the water out of the drinking bowl again."

Really. Why would I bother to tell Farmer H that his feet were wet? And surely he knows that Pupsie doesn't give an obese rat's patootie where I am. She is needy, and wants Jack for companionship.

Once Again, The Actions Belie The Sentiment

The Pony and I went on a shopping trip for a 4th of July BBQ. Except we're having it on the 6th of July, because Farmer H must have his SUS2.5 open on the 4th. 

Anyhoo... as we were leaving Country Mart, I suggested we go out the pharmacy door, since it is closer to the handicap space where I was parked. The Pony held open the door for me. A lady had just parked there in one of the other four handicap spaces, and was starting in. She had a handicap placard. She was perhaps late 50s, graying hair, walking along okay.

I know it takes me a long time to walk out pushing a cart. I was not yet in front of the door. The Pony motioned for her to go in. I told her, "Go ahead."

"No. You go ahead."

"I'm fine. You'll be faster."

"No. Go ahead."

"No. It takes me a while to get over the threshold."

That woman sighed. She came in the door, acting all pissy. How is it a hardship for her to walk through a held-open door ahead of me? I TOLD her to go ahead, as did The Pony. If she really wanted to be nice and helpful, she would have just DONE IT. Not stood outside arguing, while I stood waiting longer than if she'd just strode on in.

 

I guess she was only wanting to SEEM NICE by trying to make me go first. If she really cared, she would have just come through the door and said thanks for letting her go ahead. Not played a game of chicken with me, then acted exasperated when I didn't want to try and rush just to appease her do-goodedness.

I really do appreciate people being polite, trying to help me. REALLY. But sometimes, it would be easier if they just left me to my own devices.

The 'Splainin' That Was Actually Insulting

Oh, how short-lived was my happiness at T-Hoe's oil change! I should have known better. Farmer H is a crafty one. Pretending that I don't know nothin' and can't understand his words. He knew exactly what he was doing. I guess he didn't count on my interrogation skills.

After changing into my comfy clothes after the town trip, I walked past Farmer H in his recliner.

"So you got my oil changed at the Devil's Playground, just like A-Cad? They didn't reset the CHANGE OIL thingy. So we'll have to do that."

"No. I put two quarts of oil in. It only needed 1.5."

"Then why did I have two identical receipts? The exact same amount, on two consecutive days, both including an oil filter?"

"I got the oil changed in my truck. I just added oil to yours. I already had the oil."

"I've been asking you to change my oil for over a month! And then you did A-Cad on Tuesday, and SilverRedO on Wednesday!!!"

"Well, the CHANGE OIL message came up when I started to town in the Acadia. So I had to get it done."

"Mine has been on for over a month! You knew that! And then you took your truck the very next day???"

"It said it needed oil."

"For over a month???"

"Probably."

"Huh. Why don't you just take your Olds Toronado that hasn't been driven in 15 years? And maybe the engine out of that Chevy truck that you've been going to rebuild for 25 years. Because, you know, my car can surely wait as long as you want for an oil change."

"I'll have to see when I have time. Maybe next week."

This is just not right! Should I stop buying groceries and feeding Farmer H for over a month? It's not like I feed everyone else but him. Surely he can find room in his busy schedule to take care of projects at home. LIKE MAKING SURE MY CAR DOESN'T BREAK DOWN!

A Tricky Bit Of 'Splainin' By Farmer H

I had just typed up yesterday's post about Farmer H and his oil-changing proclivities when Farmer H himself walked through the kitchen door on Wednesday afternoon. He gave me a receipt from the Devil's Playground, a receipt from the pool chemical store, and said:

"I put oil in your car."

Sweet Gummi Mary! All I had to do was put a criticism of Farmer H on hold to post the next day, and he got an oil change for T-Hoe!!! I felt a little bit bad. Considered adding an update to the bottom of that post. But then I figured I could do a whole separate apology for my Sweet Baboo. So I let that post stand, to hit the innernets without an update.

I recorded those receipts in my checkbook ledger. Couldn't believe my precious T-Hoe had been serviced with only a month of nagging. Took a nap. Took a shower. Such a joyous occasion.

I went out to the garage for my town trip. Happy with the knowledge that T-Hoe would be fine, now that he'd had an oil change that the warning system had been clamoring for. More kudos for Farmer H! He had parked where my door would open fully, and not hit a 2x4 stud on the garage wall. Nor had he moved my seat! It was exactly how I like it. And the radio station was unchanged. Could the day get any better?

No. It could not. In fact, it could only get worse...

Farmer H Has Some 'Splainin' To Do

Farmer H might as well start renovating my Sweet, Sweet Juno's old doghouse. He'll want to be comfortable in there, you know. Because that's where he's headed. I don't have a curb to kick him to, and my knees aren't up to kicking. So a sojourn in that doghouse will have to suffice.

Tuesday, Farmer H made a trip to Illinois to get merchandise for his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5). He left home a bit later than usual, which was okay. I was watching one of those how to murder your wife shows, as I call them. The true crime re-enactment shows that tell how people almost got away with their crimes. Farmer H stayed to watch until the end of the episode. Which is probably NOT a good thing!

Anyhoo... he had asked if there was anything I needed from the Devil's Playground. 

"No. Nothing I can think of right now. Are you going there for something?"

"No. I just figured I could kill a little time there before I go to my doctor's appointment, and head to Illinois."

I did not suggest that maybe he could have stayed in bed a little longer. Because that involves logic, a concept as foreign to Farmer H as comedy is to a man born without a funny bone.

When Farmer H returned home that evening, he put a receipt on the kitchen table. It was from the Devil's Playground. The purchase?

AN OIL CHANGE FOR A-CAD!

"I thought you weren't going to the store! And what's this OIL CHANGE? I've been telling you for a month that T-Hoe needs an oil change! And now you do it for A-Cad?"

"I'm glad I did. I got in the car, and the CHANGE OIL light came on. So it was time I did it. I didn't want to break down over in Illinois."

"Mine has been on for over a month now! I don't want to break down in town. You never answer your phone. I don't want to get stranded in this heat."

"HM. I can't help it if my phone don't get reception in my unit, or in the house. I can usually get a text."

"Yes, but sometimes the text doesn't come in until the next day. I'd rather just be sure that T-Hoe has oil so I don't need to be rescued."

"I'll have to see when I can do that. I don't want you to burn up the engine."

So here we go again. Mrs. HM is last on the to-do list.

The River In Egypt. Not Long Enough For Farmer H.

I'm pretty sure I've complained about mentioned this issue before. Farmer H cannot seem to tear off a paper towel without contaminating the entire roll. He finds it necessary to hold onto the top with a filthy finger. As if he can't tear off a paper towel without doing so. Funny how I manage to do it all the time. You just start at the top, by the perforation, and yank a little at a time. I usually have something else in my other hand, so I know this is possible.

Well. The paper towel roll was fine on Monday night. Fine, even, on Tuesday morning. Yet when I returned from town Tuesday evening, that paper towel roll was NOT fine.

Can you see it? Farmer H pretended not to, when I called him in to complain about show him this contamination.

"I didn't do that. I haven't gotten a paper towel in I don't know how long. I used my old one last night for supper."

"I don't know how this dirty fingerprint got here, unless you were the one getting a paper towel. I sure don't leave dirt on the paper towel roll."

"That ain't nothin'." Farmer H then proceeded to RUB THE DIRT DOWN INTO THE ROLL with his thumb.

"You're just making it worse! Now it's even deeper."

"It don't affect nothin'."

Sure. I guess. If you don't mind filth on the end of a paper towel you might be using to wipe the kitchen counter, or wipe your mouth, or dry your clean hands...

Good thing the roll is about half used already. So there's only half the chance I will be poisoned from whatever was on Farmer H's hands.

Some Kind Of A Magician

It's no secret that Mrs. HM and Farmer H keep separate hours. He's an early riser, leaving the Mansion around 6:00 a.m. Mrs. HM has not been an early riser since college, when she had to have the desk clerk unlock the dormitory doors to let her out for a 5-mile run at 6:00 a.m. 

I've always been more of a night owl, even when living at home during high school. Everyone else would be snoozing upstairs, while I was wide awake, watching The Avengers on PBS around midnight. That's the original series, with Diana Rigg as Emma Peel, and Patrick Macnee as John Steed. I loved that show!

Anyhoo... Farmer H goes to bed around 8:00. Mrs. HM doesn't even sit down on the short couch to watch TV until about midnight. She often dozes off there, then interacts with Farmer H before he leaves the next morning. She doesn't hit the sack until afternoon, before her town trip.

Farmer H must be some kind of magician. Like one who can pull the tablecloth off, leaving the dishes intact. Only Farmer H uses the sheets and blankets on the bed, rather than a tablecloth. I have never liked a top sheet. It seems superfluous. Just give me a blanket or comforter, and I'm good. My dislike is probably due to so many years of Farmer H pulling that sheet up over his face. 

Yes. Isn't that an odd habit? Farmer H uses a breather at night. So it's like he's daring The Universe to knock him off. As in, "I have this breathing machine to keep me alive, but I'm going to cover my face and thwart the atmospheric oxygen, just to show that I can."

Let the record show that Farmer H even did this BEFORE the breather. No matter what the weather. It's not like we were trying to survive in sub-zero temperatures on the tundra.

Anyhoo... somehow Farmer H gets the top sheet pulled all the way over on his side of the bed. But the blanket is all the way over on my side of the bed. How is that possible? Sure, it gives me my wish of only having a blanket on top of me. But that sheet is annoying. Just enough of it on my side to cling to me, while trying to pull up the blanket.

Farmer H is a man of many talents.