Here's a little slice of life from the Mansion.
This morning, I got up and put in a load of laundry, and shoved a tray of Parmesan Chicken Strips in the oven for The Pony's lunches this week, and when they were done, at a lower temperature, a bag of boneless skinless chicken breasts to have ready for sandwiches for my lunch all week. Then I sat down to make my shopping list for The Devil's Playground.
Farmer H rolled out of bed and paraded through the Mansion in his tighty whities. I told him about the tax returns that I think I have finally completed, and how much we have to pay, and how I'm ready to do the #1 son's taxes next, which will be harder for me, what with him having wages from Kansas last summer.
Farmer H nodded and grunted at appropriate times. I told him I was going to put in my next load of laundry. No sooner had I stooped over the dryer than here he came through the laundry room to feed my sweet, sweet Juno on the back porch. I swear. I can't get rid of that man. Where I go, he goes.
So I went back to the living room, and here came Farmer H. "Aren't you going to take a shower?"
"Yeah. Sometime. But right now, I'm going to sit here for a while." Of course he was.
"What do you need from The Devil's Playground?"
"Just breakfast sandwiches (sausage/egg/biscuit croissants). And waffles (Nutri-Grain Blueberry)." Let the record show that he still had some left from last week, but not enough to make it through a whole week.
I went to make a bowl of instant oatmeal (brown sugar and cinnamon) and take my other medicine. Funny...who should come wandering into the Mansion kitchen but Farmer H! I made a quick getaway and took my porridge to the living room. Mrs. HM does not give up the La-Z-Boy that easily!
Farmer H fiddled and faddled, taking an extraordinarily long time in the kitchen. "What are you doing?"
"Making some breakfast."
"It seems to be taking a long time."
"No...I have to get it ready."
Then Farmer H made his grand entrance. He was carrying one of the GOOD paper plates, the hard round kind with a coating, not the fluted-edge paper kind that are flimsy. Upon his plate he had a stack of something. He sat down on the long couch and pulled the coffee table (my laptop-using chair when I'm on the computer upstairs away from my dark basement lair) over towards him.
"What is it?"
"Waffles and syrup."
"SYRUP?" Farmer H has The Diabetus, you know.
"It's the sugar-free kind! I got it out of the closet." (What we kitcheny people call a pantry.)
"How MANY waffles do you have? That is quite a stack!"
"Well, I finished off the bag. Since you are getting more at the store."
"Five. That's how many was left in the bag."
"So you thought you had to finish them? There are only eight in a bag! How about you wait, and eat the eight new ones, and save those five for the week, one for each day?"
Seriously. That man has an entirely different way of thinking.