Driving Miss Crazy

I took today off from work to ferry Farmer H to the eye doctor. He had a skin lesion removed from the nose area near his eye. Which had me begging the question, "Would you go to a dermatologist to remove a cataract?" Funny how I got no response.

While not a serious procedure, one thing is for certain. Farmer H cannot state: "It was no skin off my nose." Because clearly, it was. The appointment was made three weeks ago, when the growth was discovered during a routine six-month exam. At that time, I started planning for a release day from work in order to drive him home. Because Farmer H will be driving himself there. And also Driving Miss Crazy, as he would no doubt refer to me, if he had an inkling of what  pop culture is all about, and spent his leisure time watching movies with more substance than Booty Call.

Because we reside in Hillmomba and not Mayfield or Mayberry, this dual excursion has been condemned, then coveted, then condemned, then coveted several times over. Just last night, Farmer H flung up his arms and denounced my participation in his operation. No skin off MY nose, buddy. Bwah ha ha! But this morning, our trip is on again.

Farmer H has a way of overreacting sometimes. Like when he thinks people don't understand what he's trying to say. Or when they DO understand, and disagree with him. Or when they won't drop what they are doing and carry out his bidding forthwith. For example, when he lays in a recliner and hollers, "Answer the dang phone!" to others laying in their recliners. Let the record show that this tale has been censored, since Farmer H has never been one to use the word dang. In this specific instance, I attribute Farmer H's outburst to anxiety over his upcoming appointment to have a section of skin sawed off like so much shoe leather. That's how my mom described her own such experience, anyway.

Yes. All is forgiven. Farmer H was not intentionally wounding the one person who is there to help him. But it makes me leery of removing a thorn from a lion's paw.