Farmer H thinks he's doing me a favor.
He SAYS he's doing me a favor. Whether the favor is really his intention, or whether his actions are evil payback, are up for debate.
Let the record show that Mrs. Hillbilly Mom does not have a dishwasher. Not even some Flintstonesque critter that licks the dishes clean. Nope. All she has are her own two hands and a sink. With running water, even though the lever is backwards with the hot and cold.
Farmer H wants a pat on the back or a cookie or blog recognition, I suppose, for making my life easier. He CLAIMS. "Alls I was doing was helping you out by rinsing my bowl." Uh huh. That's his story and he's stickin' to it. Just like the clinging foodstuffs on the sides of his dishes.
No matter what piece of the place setting Farmer H helps me with, no matter what the food it held, that eat-off-of item always has remnants clinging. Sometimes, it's a plastic sectioned plate that held Hunan Chicken and fried rice. Always a few particles of rice left, and some vegetable stringy things. But no celery, because Farmer H tells them to leave that out of his order. And always the congealed grease or oil. Although it's wet grease or oil. Because Farmer H won't wait the five minutes it takes for the water to heat up, but rinses his dishes with cold water. Incompletely.
This was the bowl (one that used to belong to my mom, not my regular plates) I filled with leftover Maple Bacon Beans last night for Farmer H. And heated in the microwave. Left over from the solar car cookout. They were delicious, I must say. Farmer H must think so too, because he's leaving some behind for later, it looks like. At least he didn't stack another rinsed bowl inside it, thus making me scrub both the inside AND the outside.
Sometimes, I wish Farmer H would not help me. It would make my life a little easier.