Farmer H has a unique bedside manner.
Oh, he's not a doctor. Doesn't even play one on TV. Doesn't even WATCH one on TV. Nope. I'm referring to his manner when I sat on the edge of the bed this morning, letting all my thin blood run back down into my feet before I tried to walk. Let the record show that Farmer H was stroking the hair on the back of my head during this exchange.
"You have such pretty hair."
"What? I've been wallowing on it all night. It's a mess!"
"It's like Juno's."
"Hey! She has been matted and dull since the middle of summer! How dare you say my hair is like Juno's."
"No. I meant...I mean...like her hair was before. All shiny and slick." The petting continued.
I turned my neck ever-so-slightly until I almost had Farmer H's eyes in focus to give him the stinkeye. "Are you crazy? You don't even LIKE Juno. Now you're trying to flatter me by saying my hair is beautiful like hers?" I guess when I turned my head ever-so-slightly, Farmer H saw the back of my lovely lady-mullet in silhouette against the sun trying to penetrate the clouds through the etched-glass french doors that open onto the back porch overlooking the pool.
"Uh. Your hair kind of DOES look like Juno's hair now..."
He's no Marcus Welby, MD.