You'd Think I Could Have Figured Out What Makes Him Tick By Now

Ah...the joys of living with Farmer H. One never know what to expect from day to day.

One day, he's being himself, telling me that he went to look at the Oberle cheese because he thought he might have some with his deer chili, and BOTH ROLLS OF CHEESE WERE NO GOOD!

"And...? I bought them over Christmas break. I thought you might want some when I made soup or chili. One roll I specifically bought for the #1 son, and then he was only here for a few days, and didn't take it back with him. That's why I've been reminding you on the weekends that we have the Oberle cheese, and Oberle sausage. In case you wanted it for lunch, before it went bad. But no, you only wanted hot dogs. Or bologna. Was the cheese moldy?"

"No."

"Then how do you know it was bad?"

"Because the date says to use before January 15th."

"Okay. Did you throw it away?"

"No. I put it back in the fridge."

"Why? Why would you do that? It's no good. So why would you put it back in there? YOU aren't going to eat it, after you found out it's no good. Did you think I might eat it? After reminding you all those weekends to eat it before it expired?"

"No."

"Well, why didn't you throw it away when you saw it was bad?"

"I don't know."

AGH! What does that man think we should do with expired cheese? Build a shrine to it?

Another day, Farmer H is being sketchy. Like when I went to the dryer to get the clean clothes out, and the towels were missing.

"Hey! Did you take the clean towels out?"

"Yes. I hung them in the bathroom."

"Okay...you've never done that before. So why did you do it today?"

"I don't know. I just hung the towels."

"But you left all the other laundry in there. Like The Pony's slacks."

"Yeah."

And then there was Friday. Farmer H was getting ready to take The Pony to an activity at Newmentia. He was flitting around, killing time, after reuniting with his chickens upon his arrival home. He went into the bedroom or bathroom. I can't see around the corner from the La-Z-Boy.

"What are you doing?"

"Clipping my fingernails."

I got a text from my niece about Babe. (She's still in the hospital, you know, from having a serious case of pneumonia. Today makes two weeks at Children's. But there was a chance she might come home today, with a tube still in her lung.) I typed back a response. Then got a text from my sister the ex-mayor's wife about that money from Mom's estate. Sent her a message back. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is not good on a smartphone keyboard. About 10 or 15 minutes had passed. Still no sign of Farmer H.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"Still clipping my fingernails."

Sweet Gummi Mary! Is that man an octopus? I don't know what's going on with him. Yesterday he sent The Pony a text. "Don't touch the grill. I burnt the cooked on food off. I'm going to town for Gator gas, chicken food, and a fish."

Yeah. Figure that one out.