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.

It Was A LOTastrophe, I Tell You!

Mrs. HM was not in the best of moods after the entitled pizza-eaters usurped her rightful handicap parking space at the Hillmomba Casey's on Saturday. She proceeded to 10Box, with a purpose of buying two $5 crossword scratchers, a $10 ticket, and a $3 crossword, which was destined for Fave next Thursday.

I was only buying from the left side machine, because I had won $20 on a crossword from the right side machine the day before. I scanned in a $3 winner. Then inserted a twenty-dollar bill. The machine showed a credit of $23. I touched the screen for my $5 crosswords. Selected the TWO option. They were ripped off and deposited in the tray. I touched the screen for my $10 ticket. Selected the ONE option. I heard the ticket tearing, but it was an extra-long tear sound. Then the machine froze. 

I waited. My credit in the machine showed $3. I was just waiting on that $10 ticket to fall into the tray. But it didn't! I figured it might be stuck. When the screen returned to normal, I selected the $3 crossword, and chose the ONE option. It showed on the screen, but I heard no tearing. IT FROZE. After waiting about five minutes, because these machines often start working again after freezing, I turned to the cashiers, and said,

"This machine is acting up again."

One of them said that yeah, they do that, you just have to wait. But another said, "She's already been waiting a while." They called for a manager. Not one I was familiar with. She heard my description of what happened. Then tried to open the machine. She was not exactly friendly. She tried every key, and finally made the front cover open. She was having a lot of trouble figuring out what to do, and called over the lady who is so nice, and always gives me a cart when she sees my drive up.

Cart Gal talked her through the steps. But still, they couldn't solve the problem. That dang machine would not show my credit for the $10 ticket I never got. New Gal acted like I might be lying. She didn't know how to see the record of what that machine had just done, like the last time it happened and the manager could tell exactly what happened.

"I can't give you a ticket out of here. And I can't give you a refund, because it only shows a $3 credit. I CAN give you the $3. But for the rest, you'll have to come in on Monday and talk to a manager."

"That's a little far off. They won't have any idea what I'm talking about."

"We can leave a note."

"That will take a long time. It's not worth it to me to stand around for 30 minutes. Somebody else might as well use my $10."

I was not trying to be a smart-rumpus. I had already been standing there for 30 minutes while this was going on. I knew it would take at least that long to try and explain and get resolution TWO DAYS LATER! I took my $3 she refunded, and got my two crosswords out of the tray. Then I put a twenty into the right-side machine, and got a ten, and two five dollar tickets that I would send to Genius this week.

I'm not mad at the workers. I told Cart Gal, "Anywhere else, I would just walk away and forget it, but everybody here is so nice, I don't mind imposing on you with a problem!"

She said, "Oh, it's no problem! This machine acts up all the time, especially when the weather is cloudy."

Which seems right, because it was rainy the last time this machine betrayed me! Still, I don't hold it against the workers. The New Gal even started acting really nice once I mentioned how nice everyone (but her!) are in this store. I figure these things happen for a reason, and if somebody can get a win off my $10, then they needed it more than I do.

The Universe rewarded me for my trouble. After barely being able to hobble out to T-Hoe, and getting home 30 minutes late to make Farmer H's supper, I scratched those tickets. One of my crosswords won $25. And the $10 ticket won $30.

Aside from making my knees hurt extra more... it was not such a LOTastrophe after all.

The Action Does Not Belie The Sentiment

Imagine Mrs. HM's dismay fit of pique on Saturday afternoon, when she pulled onto the lot of the Hillmomba Casey's to buy her scratchers, and found a minivan with two kayaks on the top in her rightful handicap parking space. No plate, no placard signifying handicap status for this vehicle.

I parked on the other side of it, even farther from the door, and began my slow hobble along the sidewalk. A woman came out, walking towards me, carrying a pizza. It smelled delicious.

"You have a blessed day, Ma'am," she said as she opened the door of the minivan.

"Thank you." I'm pretty sure my face showed more of a grimace than a smile.

HOW DARE SHE wish me a blessed day, while parked ILLEGALLY in my rightful handicap space!!! Is that supposed to relieve her conscience? Does she even have a conscience? Would she have wished me a blessed day if I was standing there taking a picture of her van in front of the HANDICAP sign that proclaims a $500 fine for parking there without verification?

When I came out, the van was still parked in the handicap space. The two women inside were eating their pizza. You know, because there is nowhere else to park to eat pizza, other than the single handicap space that other differently-abled people such as Mrs. HM might need to park in, to satisfy their gambling addiction.

Let The Hardheadedness Continue

Farmer H bookended our casino trip with another bout of hardheadedness. It also involved the Love's Truck Stop. He always stops there on the way home, for a bathroom break, and to get a soda (and candy bar). The Pony usually goes in to get me scratchers out of their lottery machine. I give The Pony some of my casino bankroll for tickets for both of us.

This time, The Pony had been napping in the back seat. I asked Farmer H if he was stopping, and he said yes, to get a soda. So I woke The Pony. Which was harder than you might imagine. The Pony said he didn't really want to go in this time, so I said okay. 

I didn't want to get out and hobble in, either. 

Besides, all I had in cash was $100 bills. Farmer H said he was out of twenties, from the casino. I would have no problem giving The Pony a hundred, to spend $50 for each of us. I'd had a good day at the casino! But I didn't want to give Farmer H a hundred. He's so judgmental, and I definitely wasn't letting him buy tickets for himself. The machines don't give change back. Then I remembered I had put my winners from the day before into my gambling purse. Still, there was the problem of Farmer H's lottery literacy.

As Farmer H was going up the exit ramp by the Love's Truck Stop, I said,

"Well, I know better than to ask YOU to get me tickets. You can't remember what I ask for. I'm not giving you a hundred, and you don't know how to scan in tickets."

I figured that was that. No big deal. I'd just go to town when we got back home.

THEN Farmer H said,

"I don't need no soda anyway."

AND KEPT ON DRIVING PAST THE LOVE'S TRUCK STOP!

"I don't know why you have to be like this. I wasn't even asking you to get my tickets. Go ahead and pee yourself and die of dehydration and starve to death from not getting your afternoon candy bar! You're not punishing ME any by skipping that stop."

Because really... why would Farmer H change his plans instantly? No reason I can think of, other than to show me he's the boss. If he'd been alone, he would have stopped for pee/soda/candy. If The Pony was going in, Farmer H would have stopped. So I really don't see the purpose of driving right by, unless it was an action directed at ME.

Farmer H does many things right, and he's basically a good guy. But it's things like this that really hurt my feelings. It's a wonder he even has a nose left, after years of such spiteful behavior.

Let The Hardheadedness Begin

Can you guess who I'm talking about? You over there, with your hand up. Yes! You are correct! This tale is indeed about Farmer H. I see a future valedictorianship in your future.

Wednesday morning, we left for the casino. As with all trips to our favorite casino, the first stop would be McDonald's about a half hour into the drive, when we get to the interstate highway. The Pony asked if we could actually stop instead of just utilizing the drive-thru, because a bathroom break was needed.

I asked Farmer H if he would go in to get the food, or just use the drive-thru after letting The Pony out for the facilities. We eat on the road, to save time. It's a 90-minute drive to the casino. Farmer H said he didn't think this McDonald's had a restroom inside for customers. It's adjacent to a Love's Truck Stop, and the bathrooms are in that part of the building. So he'd let The Pony go in there, and order food at the drive-thru as usual.

Is it just me, or would you think that Farmer H would stop in front of the Love's entrance, let The Pony go in, and proceed to the drive-thru once The Pony came back out? Doesn't that make the most sense? 

Farmer H got directly in the drive-thru line when we entered the complex. He was stunned when I asked what he was doing. "I'm getting the food, then I'll drive The Pony over to the other door."

"That's kind of backwards. The Pony has to go. And probably wants to eat the food when it's hot in the bag, not wait until after the bathroom."

"I'm fine, Mom. It's okay."

Well. It was not okay with ME! You guessed that, didn't you? I'm all about logic. There were already four cars in the drive-thru line. Usually we are the only one. I guess we hit it at the morning rush.

Then we saw the car ahead of us at the pickup window hand their bag back through the window to the worker. To me, that meant they had been given OUR food, and gave it back. Indeed, our bag looked crumpled at the top, as if it had been opened and re-closed, when we pulled up to receive it. This irked me, even though The Pony said it didn't LOOK like the sandwiches had been unwrapped.

Anyhoo... Farmer H drove over to the entrance to the convenience store side of the truck stop. The Pony went inside. I told Farmer H that I would have given him his Sausage Egg and Cheese McMuffin while waiting, instead of eating while driving, but The Pony had set the bag way back beside his seat, and neither one of us could reach it.

Serves him right! Farmer H always insists on doing things HIS way. Which is often the least convenient, with no rhyme nor reason.

If PigPen Was An Old Man In Hillmomba, And Not A Peanuts Cartoon Character

I appreciate all the chores Farmer H does around the Mansion. He takes care of a lot. I also have chores. They mostly relate to cleaning up after taking care of Farmer H. I don't get to ride around on a cute little machine while doing chores outside. I am inside, on my own two feet, in stinky bathrooms. Or in the kitchen that refuses to buy food, cook it, and clean up after itself.

Wednesday, we were taking a trip to the casino. The Pony was coming out to meet us for the drive down there. I figured I'd clean up a bit in the boys' bathroom that I use most of the time. Tuesday night, Farmer H went to bed around 7:30. I know it was still daylight, and the sun had not yet set over the front yard/field. I gathered some paper towels, a bag for trash, some spray cleaner, and went into the boys' bathroom to tidy up. It smelled fresh and clean. I was pleased with myself. The sink sparkled, and the floor had been wiped within an inch of its life. 

Wednesday morning, I was showering in the master bathroom when The Pony arrived around 8:45. Farmer H had been outside mowing when I got in the shower. I heard them both talking when I came into the living room. We left for the casino.

When we returned home after 5:00, The Pony left. Farmer H went to visit The Veteran. And I went to town for scratchers. Upon my arrival back home after town, I went into the boys' bathroom. WHAT A SIGHT! There was dried grass all over the floor. I can only assume that Farmer H had used that bathroom when he came into the Mansion after mowing, before leaving for the casino.

You'd think somebody would notice that they left grass all over the floor. And maybe CLEAN IT UP. What's it going to do, take root and grow a green carpet in there? Will it disappear? Farmer H may only have one eye, but he's not blind. Just hard-headed. I suppose he thought I should clean that floor.

I do not concur...