Finally, He's Full Of It

Yesterday I had several things to do in order to free up Wednesday for some pre-cooking for Thursday. I offered to bring Farmer H some lunch when I came back from town, but he declined.

"That's all right. I can have a baloney sandwich."

"Do you want me to open it for you? That's why you didn't have it last night, isn't it? Too much work to open it and put it away?"

"No. I can do it."

"I will. Then I'll know it's done right."

"No. You don't have to. I will."

I was on my fifth load of laundry, trying to get away to run to town and pick up four cans of Blue Lake Cut Green Beans from Save A Lot, because that's the main thing I went in there for yesterday, and emerged with three jars of salsa, three tubs of sour cream, a bag of white onions, and three bags of Garlic Parmesan Pita Chips...when the phone rang.

I was walking by the phone, headed in the other direction, with a quilt draped over my shoulder and under my feet. Farmer H was in The Pony's bedroom, cleaning it up for his arrival tomorrow. It's a nice gesture. But Farmer H acted like he was shoveling out a hoarder house and only had ten minutes until the city boarded it up. He was just as close to the phone as I was, but I could see the caller, and he could not.

"It's your doctor's office."

"Well, answer it!"

"YOU answer it!"

That phone was on its third ring. The machine picks up at four. I lunged for it, stumbling on the quilt my grandma made for my wedding, none too happy to be Farmer H's secretary.

"Hello?"

"Is Farmer H there?"

"Yes. Just a minute."

It did not help matters that Farmer H was standing right there, making a hateful face at me with his chin stuck out like the alien in Alien.

"Well, give it TO ME!"

You'd think Farmer H could have held it in, what with his doctor's office listening and all. I held it out for him, with a frown like Joan Crawford might have given a child who dared to use a wire hanger. Farmer H grabbed for it, and in his haste and animosity, grappled it out of my hand while hitting two beeping buttons.

"You might have cut them off." I said sweetly.

Farmer H did his next-day appointment confirmation and hung up. Then followed me into the kitchen and mouthed at me as I left for Save A Lot. And a 44 oz Diet Coke as well.

As I went down the driveway, I recalled that I had forgotten to open the bologna and pat the juices dry and seal it in the square plastic container with the blue lid. Too bad, so sad.

When I got home, the bologna had been opened. And it was put away properly. Which signaled to me that Farmer H was full of baloney.