I'm pretty sure Farmer H is trying to kill me.
He's not obvious about it. Mostly he just chips away at my belief that I am the one actually in control of this Mansion, family, and relationship. But every now and then, he tosses a big monkey wrench into my life plan. Puts a Jeff-Goldblum-size fly in my ointment. A bee with the wingspan of a 747 in my bonnet.
This morning he took my T-Hoe to town for an oil change. Not that T-Hoe needed it, what with the Change Engine Oil Soon light having glared at me for slightly over a week. Farmer H was gone longer than expected. Upon return, he claimed the first place he went to had an hour wait, so he went to The Devil's Playground, where he also waited, but used his time to buy light bulbs.
Around 11:30, I gathered up my 44 oz. cup and took off for liquid provision to get me through the day. As I turned to back out of the garage, I was blinded by the back passenger seat. We keep it folded down. Otherwise, you can't see what's coming down the pike about to kill you. Since I have hours of garage-backing under my belt, I continued. I toyed with the idea of leaving the seat up until I got to the gas station chicken store for my 44 oz. Diet Coke. At the end of the driveway, I thought twice. I had no Pony to tell me if the coast was clear. I got out and folded down the seat. First I had to jam that headrest from its maximum height back into the seatback.
Upon return, fueled by the bravado of a barrel of caffeine that would soon be coursing through my veins, I interrogated Farmer H.
"Did you have someone in my car? Is that why you took so long?"
"Have someone in your car? No. I didn't have anyone in your car."
"Did you put the seat up?"
"It must have been those oil changers! They did it. I put the seat back!"
"Not my driver's seat. The back passenger seat. I can't see with it up. It blocks the entire back side window."
"I might have put it up. But I bet it was those oil changers. They vacuumed the whole car."
"Did you put up that headrest for a tall person?"
"No. I didn't touch the headrest. It wasn't me."
So...I am left with the image of that valet parker from Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Did the oil changers take my T-Hoe for a joyride, then do backwards donuts in The Devil's parking lot to get my mileage back in kilter? Did Farmer H hire himself out as a chauffeur for some extra Goodwill cash? I can't believe that car vacuumers would not return things to the way they found them.
I'm pretty sure Farmer H is trying to kill me. He may not even realize it. Perhaps it's subconscious. Seats don't set themselves upright and hoist their headrests unmolested.