We Might Need To Go Back To The High Chair, With Cheerios Scattered On The Tray

Farmer H continues to have trouble feeding himself. I don't think it's his motor skill that's lacking. More like his will skill. He'd rather take the easy way out.

Last night, he went to a local basketball tournament to watch the Newmentia boys win. I asked if he wanted me to fix him something before he left.

"No. I'll get something at the game. I'm leaving at 5:30 so I can watch the one before Newmentia."

"Okay. There's some of that chicken left that you wanted, from the Devil's Playground." That's because even when he eats something somewhere else, Farmer H wants to nosh when he gets back home. Which, in this case, was after 10:00 p.m. He came down to my well-lighted basement lair.

"I'm home. I'm gonna have a baloney sandwich."

"Okay. Don't just stick the bologna back in there after you cut open the package. The juice leaks out. I always put it in that square container with the blue lid. After I dab the juice off with a paper towel. And there's pepper jack or cheddar slices in the door. They're not open yet."

Off Farmer H went to seek his snack.

The next morning, I saw that the package of bologna was unopened. And the sticks of Oberle sausage and Oberle cheese were suspiciously shorter, with their Glad Wrap fluttering loosely.

"Did you eat more Oberle?"

"Yeah. Last night."

"I thought you were having a bologna sandwich."

"I changed my mind after hearing your instructions. I didn't want to do it wrong."

"You mean you didn't want to do it at all. Too much work for you, when you can simply gnaw off the ends of Oberle cheese and sausage."

"Whatever."

That's not the end of the bologna saga...