Farmer H is at it again. Up to his old tricks of losing food. And not in a vomiting kind of way.
First there was the half of a donut I found under his chair at the hospital when The Pony was having his first broken elbow surgically repaired. "I'm going to get another donut," said Farmer H. "He won't be back for a while."
I had been out of the room to use the facilities. Nothing makes Mrs. Hillbilly Mom more nervous that having her little Pony wheeled off to the operating room at the tender age of ten to inhale anesthesia gasses through a Dr. Pepper-flavored mask. "Another donut? Why is there half of one under your chair?"
"Under my chair? Oh! I KNEW I didn't remember eating the rest of that donut."
Then there was that time I went to take over the La-Z-Boy one Sunday morning after Farmer H finished his breakfast and disappeared like a showgirl in a magician's trunk. As I leaned back and wiggled my hands down into the cushions for that comfy warm chair-hug feeling, I felt something cold and slimy. Eek! I jumped up and whirled around. La-Z-Boys are not supposed to feel cold and slimy. There is was, peeping out between the seat cushion and the arm cushion. A banana peel. Farmer H had used his La-Z-Boy like a common garbage receptacle.
Lest you think Farmer H's lost food faux pas always involve chairs, I shall set the record straight. This morning I found one of his deposits on the mantle of the electric fake fireplace. It was a paper plate with the butt-end of a Subway sandwich. Of course all the meat was gone. But there was at least four inches of a wheat bread loaf hardening on the paper plate.
I suppose it's still there. I was kind of waiting to see if Farmer H noticed. If it is still on display tomorrow, I will grudgingly dispose of it.
Maybe Farmer H wanted to preserve it and show it off on the mantle like his other treasures. All the more reason for me to choke down my ire and throw it away.