Friday, July 29, 2016

A Crushing Work Of Breathtaking Insolence

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is crushed. Crushed, I tell you, over the behavior of Farmer H these past two days. I know it comes as a complete shock that Farmer H could be so oblivious to Mrs. HM's feelings. Okay. Not so much oblivious to her feelings as lacking a modicum of common sense innate to 50.4% of the U.S. human population.

Let the record show that Mrs. Hillbilly Mom stores her shredded lettuce for Super Nachos, her slaw mix for BBQ slaw, her broccoli slaw mix for crunching up her BBQ slaw, and the bag of romaine hearts for making the crisper of Frig II. You know what a crisper is, right? That little drawer compartment at the bottom of the refrigerator that is used to keep vegetables crisp. Am I right? Let me answer for you. YES. I am right.

Let the record further show that Farmer H has claimed the back right corner of that crisper to store one of his medications. One that he uses once a week. One that he refilled on Wednesday. Or rather made me drop off at his pharmacy so he could pick it up on the way home.

Let the engraved-in-stone record show that I despise his pharmacy, CeilingReds, because the workers always have a smirk when I go in there, like I am the butt of their joke, and that I in fact switched my own prescriptions out of another branch of CeilingReds where the workers were even polite. But I went out of my way Wednesday (by about 100 feet, as it is across the drainage ditch from the gas station chicken store) to drop off Farmer H's medicine box with the label stuck on it. And that I trudged through a downpour to the door, since I don't park in a handicap spot, and that the worker at the drop-off counter did indeed smirk at my drowned-rat-edness.

Imagine my consternation as I stood at the kitchen counter Wednesday evening, preparing Farmer H a delicious salad of romaine lettuce, shredded sharp cheddar, tomatoes, chopped egg, green onions, real bacon bits, and craisins...and heard a crunchy sound. I turned to see Farmer H bent over the crisper, rooting around, shoving that box of medicine over my bags of shredded lettuce, slaw mix, and broccoli slaw.

"Stop! What are you doing? You are smashing my lettuce! No wonder it turns brown before the Use By date!"

You know how fragile shredded lettuce is, right? It's as tender as a turn-of-the-century debutante. The least jostling will bruise it. Ruin it. And here was Farmer H, plowing through it like an Iditarod team through a fresh four feet of snow, in second place on the way to the finish line.

"It's fine. I'm putting away my medicine."

Because, you see, the thought of moving the lettuce, putting that box in the corner of the crisper, then replacing the lettuce...had not occurred to him.

Tonight I opened up the crisper for some shredded lettuce, and saw A 20 oz. BOTTLE OF DR. PEPPER laying across a bag of shredded lettuce! "No mas! No mas!" cried my Super Nachos.

Farmer H is either really, really dense...or really, really revenge-minded.


fishducky said...

Doesn't that man have a place in his heart for shredded lettuce?

Sioux said...

Again, your expectations are soooo unrealistic. You expect Farmer H to behave in a logical way? You expect him to think (and to--shudder--think of others) before he acts? You expect him to not make every movement like he's a human threshing machine?

Goodness, what kind of brownies have you been eating?

When you come back down to earth, I will be glad to fill you in what are some realistic expectations you can set your sights on.

Hillbilly Mom said...

He does not. He is also an anti-crudite-ite. But I am the anti-dentite. And I don't even go to Tim Whatley!

I can't believe his life-prolonging medication takes precedence over my Super Nacho makings! That man's priorities are in serious need of adjustment.

Kathy's Klothesline said...

He needs his own fridge for his medicine and Dr. Pepper!

Hillbilly Mom said...

HE HAS ONE! Over in the BARn! It was the original FRIG, the kitchen guest we thought had departed for the big-Best-Buy-in-the-sky.

Funny how after sitting on the PORCH, in full view of the road, for a week...FRIG resuscitated himself. By the time NOS (Farmer H's number one son) came by to move him to the BARn, that possum-player has not quit running.

And I don't get this Diet Dr. Pepper kick. Farmer H has always been a Diet Mtn Dew man. Maybe it's a midlife crisis.