There are times when I am pretty sure Farmer H is trying to kill me. And then there are times when I am sure Farmer H is trying to kill me. But yesterday morning, I am certain Farmer H was trying to kill me.
We were rushing around, trying to get ready to leave on our gambling excursion, taking the freshly-21-year-old #1 son with us. We got up a bit later than planned. I had a cold shower, thanks to #1 and his lengthy cleansing rituals. I took my second round of pills with me to the La-Z-Boy to have with my mini sausage biscuits. I noticed that my bifocals were loose. That means the left lens. It falls out if I don't tighten the screw every two days. Not conducive to good gambling.
Lucky for me, I have a little plastic tube that is a glasses repair kit. In fact, I have four. One at home with a yellow lid, on the table next to the La-Z-Boy. One in my dark basement lair with a red lid. And two at school in my desk drawer, one each of the yellow and red lids. The most necessary item in each kit is the mini screwdriver. But they also have spare screws, and those little oval cushy pads that go on each side of your nose. So far, I've only needed the screwdriver. Until Saturday morning.
Do you know how hard it is to tighten a screw in your bifocals when you're not wearing your bifocals? Usually, I can manage, as long as I have proper lighting, and squint just right. I normally do the tightening at my desk in my classroom, before school. But Saturday I was not in my classroom. I was in Farmer H's La-Z-Boy. That screw was giving me a devil of a time. I swore I could see that little groove. But the screwdriver would not take hold. It turned and slipped. Nothing was tightened. That lens was still clicking when I squeezed the frame around it. Not tight.
"Let me see it," said The Pony. He tried and tried. "No. It's not getting tighter."
"Bring it in here. I'll take a look." Said Farmer H from the kitchen. "Huh. The screw is gone. You need a screw." No comments there. I mean it.
"Here, Pony. There are screws in this kit." He came in to get one. And dumped the whole contents on the end table beside the La-Z-Boy.
"Don't worry. I'll pick them up. There. I think I got them all. Except that one screw I saw bounce. I can't find it. But I'll take this one to Dad."
"Huh. That won't go in. Huh. HERE'S your problem! You were trying to tighten it from the top. It goes from the bottom. Here. It's fixed. Pony, put that screw back."
Yes, all of that commotion, and all I needed to do was turn the glasses over like usual. But my routine was disrupted, because I was at home.
Farmer H claimed his La-Z-Boy as I was getting ready. I walked behind the couch and told him we should hit the road.
"Here. You might want to take your pill first."
"Pill? I took my pills. There are only two. What's that?"
"I don't know. It was laying here on the table. I figured you dropped one." Let the record show that I am always stepping on various and sundry Farmer H pills on the tile of the bathroom floor. He has every shape and every color of the rainbow. I just put them on the sink edge and let him sort them out.
This pill was long and white. I take a blue one for my thyroid when I get up. Then a round white one that looks like an aspirin, and a tiny round white one for blood pressure. Nothing white and long.
"Oh. That might be an acetaminophen. I had some in my pocket, in case The Pony or #1 gets a headache. Let me have it. I'm not going to take it. I already took my medicine."
Good thing I wasn't going to take it, despite Farmer H's urging.
It was an oval nose cushion for broken spectacles, with a peel-off sticker on the back.