Farmer H was at it again Monday night. Slowing driving Mrs. Hillbilly Mom crazy with his uncalled-for antics. Of which he pleads ignorance. Which IS a good defense for him. But like Dean Wormer told Bluto in Animal House: "Fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life." Not that Farmer H was drunk.
I knew The Pony and I would be home late. The Pony has a standing appointment on Monday evenings. So on Sunday, I cooked up some chicken breasts in my oven (now with TWO working elements) so I could make some into chicken salad for my lunches, and Farmer H could have one for supper on Monday, and The Pony could have one for supper on Tuesday, another late evening for us. The Pony is not always fond of what I make for Farmer H and I to feast on. But I know he likes chicken.
I left the chicken salad breasts bereft of seasoning. And I sprinkled some lemon pepper on the other two. A little bit for Farmer H, who had the biggest breast (heh, heh), and a lot for The Pony, who had a smaller one. The Pony is all about salt, but Farmer H shuns it like a hypertensive maniac. Farmer H also had some beanie weenies that I made him on Saturday for lunch. And you KNOW how Farmer H loves him some hot dogs and beans. I put his piece of chicken in a small rectangular container, and set the round container of his beanie weenies on top of it. In a separate place in Frig II, I put The Pony's piece of chicken, in a smaller rectangular container, with nothing near it. He was going to have some pasta on the side, to be cooked Tuesday night.
Imagine my surprise Tuesday morning to see that The Pony's chicken was GONE! Gone, baby, gone! And there was Farmer H's piece of chicken, all man-sized and lightly-seasoned, sitting in its container under the untouched beanie weenies right on Frig II's top shelf, in the front.
I swear. How can that man be such a fumbler?
Next time, I guess I'll tie it around his neck so he is sure to get the meal prepared especially for him.