He's at it again. Farmer H is in his element. He had the day off, and set to fiddling about with his $1000 Caravan's brakes, and puttering around the grounds while I took The Pony to his ACT test at 7:30 a.m. That's in the MORNING, you know. On my day off after a stressful week. Of course Farmer H slept in while The Pony and I got ready and took off at the regular school time.
I made a solo run to The Devil's Playground, then I had about an hour to go home and not do the dishes until it was time to go back and pick up The Pony. A duty which, I might add, Farmer H did NOT volunteer for. While at the Mansion, I picked up a card to send to the #1 son. It's one of three Valentines cards he will get over the next three weeks. Hey. You gotta pick out a different card every week, you take anything you can find that hasn't been repeated yet.
Of course after ten minutes of writing the address and a personal note, here comes Farmer H in the Gator. I expect it had something to do with missing his Diet Mountain Dew that was sitting out by the garage, on the edge of the shelf with the cat food pan. However, when I mentioned it after he came in the house, he said, "Oh. I'll go get that." It's like that time he lost half a donut under his chair at Children's Hospital while waiting for The Pony to come back from surgery, then said, "I wondered where that went. I didn't remember eating all of it."
Farmer H went traipsing down the basement steps for some mechanical gewgaw. Then he went out front again. Within ten minutes he was back. This time he exited through the kitchen. I know, because I was in the middle of asking him a question when I heard the kitchen door slam. When I got up to leave so I could pick up The Pony, I saw the tracks of Farmer H across the carpet from the front door, onto the linoleum of the kitchen floor, and around the corner of the cabinet to the back door. I counted NINE blobs of mud. NINE!
Seriously. You could make a new ice cream flavor called Farmer Tracks, except that it would not be a best seller, because probably most people (not withstanding those freaks on My Strange Addiction) do not enjoy the taste of chunky mud.
I backed T-Hoe out of the garage, and called Farmer H. "You left a trail of mud all through the living room and kitchen."
"No I didn't. I didn't go through the kitchen." Said in the manner of, 'Caught you trying to frame me. Take THAT!' As if I, in my shoes that had not touched soil, but only T-Hoe floor, Devil's Playground parking lot and floor, garage floor, sidewalk, and wooden porch...had tracked up the house.
I reminded Farmer H of the slamming kitchen door while I was talking to him. Oh. It all came back to him then. "Oh. I DID go through the kitchen. I'm sorry. I'll clean it up." Darn tootin'.
Madam, (you notice I did not say LADY, or LADIES) and no gentlemen...
I present Exhibit A: