Sunday, September 8, 2013

I Sense A Theme Developing

Huh! Seems like only yesterday that I was astonished by Farmer H's inability to follow directions. Today, he might just have crossed that last 'T' in incompetent.

Frig has been having issues. He's been clogged. Unable to shoot out ice cubes. His plumbing is out of whack. At first, Farmer H accused me of fabricating Frig's constipation. After four days, two ice droppings, and a consultation with world-renowned pioneer in the field of ice-maker transplants, Dr. Chris...Farmer H announced that he did not feel qualified to router out Frig's circulatory system, but would attempt another transplant.

Farmer H left for Lowe's while The Pony and I were traipsing through The Devil's Playground. It was a welcome respite from dodging irate drivers who took offense to crosswalk protocol. Thank the Gummi Mary, I held The Pony back to let one car go by. A car of young men shouting, "Get across the road already!" to a white-bearded man in jeans, work boots, and a denim shirt. I'm sure they would have run him down, if not for the car in front of them honoring the crosswalk code. No cars were near as we exited. Halfway across the striped lines, a red sedan flew past the stop sign marking the crosswalk zone. It cut in front of us, nearly trimming The Pony's hoofs and my toenails, and roared up the row where we were parked. A teenage girl sat in the back seat, looking forlorn and embarrassed. It probably did not help her self-esteem to hear me holler, "Whatever happened to stopping at the crosswalk?" as they gassed their gas hog into our de-motorized zone.

Farmer H called us on the way back to the Mansion. He wanted to know what brand of refrigerator we have. Um. FRIGIDAIRE! How can he not know how Frig got his name? Then he called back and asked for the model number. Silly me. How dare I not remember it, like a social security number for my silver buddy Frig. As soon as we carried in the groceries, The Pony texted Frig's vital statistics to Farmer H.

You would think a man going to buy a replacement ice-maker might make sure he knew what kind of ice-maker he was going to replace. Wouldn't you?

5 comments:

knancy said...

Hell, I had to show my first husband how to light a darn pilot light on the hot water tank! Knew right then we were destined for bad times.

Sioux said...

He's a man. The same addled species that thinks an inch is a hundred miles...

Hillbilly Mom said...

knancy,
So, basically, you knew you were in hot water, due to a lack of hot water! Is that irony? I never did grasp that concept. I'll have to ask The Pony.

*****
Sioux,
No wonder their pants are so loose-fitting and saggy! They have mis-measured to assure their inflated comfort.

Kathy's Klothesline said...

It sounds normal to me. My store is currently scattered with the Amazon boxes that housed the new security cameras. Some have been installed and he has decided to just push things aside to place monitors that will allow me to watch the entire park while held prisoner in the office. Did he consult me before he purchased and installed this crap?

Hillbilly Mom said...

Kathy,
What a timely comment. Because this evening, I learned that other men dealing with other appliances also harbor this HUH? gene.

Farmer H stopped by the appliance store where we bought Frig. The place he got the LAST ice-maker for $39. And the dude working there did not understand at all what he was looking for. Told Farmer H to contact a guy at the nearby Whirlpool store who procures such items for the appliance store. Even though Frig has no Whirlpool blood in him.

Oh, and the cost of the ice-maker that Whirlpool said would fit was $140. Are you kidding me? You can practically jet up to the Mendenhall Glacier and whittle off your own cubes for that.

Farmer H says he can buy a whole kit at Lowes to put an ice-maker where no ice-maker has ever gone before for $50.