Feeding The Clueless

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom thinks she deserves some bonus points in Karma's ledger. After all, she has devoted the holiday season to feeding the clueless. Much time and effort went into her preparations, for a meal which was consumed in 20 minutes. That includes the time Mrs. HM dawdled over her plate, whilst The Pony and the #1 Son's guest sat behind their finished dessert plates. Farmer H and #1 simply sat, stuffed to the gills after seconds.

About 90 minutes before the grand feast, I set Farmer H to slicing the ham and turkey, since they were done early to make oven room for green bean bacon bundles and hash brown casserole and Sister Schubert's rolls. I figured we could warm enough for the meal right before we were ready to eat, and for this reason instructed Farmer H to put some slices of each into a foil cake pan, and the rest into the usual flat stackable not-Tupperware container we use for storing meat in FRIG II after we barbecue. The cake pans were square, a blue color, and flimsy, because who wants a heavy cake? There were two in the package, so I removed the see-through plastic lids and gave Farmer H the double cake pans for sturdiness.

Imagine my surprise when I tried to pick that pan of meat up to cover with foil, and one side tried to cascade like a slinky over the stairs. Further investigation revealed the second foil cake pan sitting on the counter.

"Who took these meat pans apart? I almost dropped the meat!"

"I know, Mom. DAD did it! The same thing happened to me when he told me to carry it to the cutting block."

An hour before the spread was laid out, I called The Pony into the kitchen to set the table. I handed him items five by five. Surely you don't expect The Pony to know what a place setting consists of! He's only a National Merit Scholar, for cryin' out loud. Just so you grasp the full necessity of my helicopter hovering, I present the following:

"Okay, Pony. All we have left are the glasses."

"Better hand them to me one at a time. Remember that year I broke one?"

"Yes. I remember."

"There. Do you want me to put ice in them now so they're ready?"

"Uh. No. The ice will melt by the time we eat."

"Oh, yeah..."

The #1 Son helped out by filling the vegetable/olive/pickle tray. It was then that we discovered we were out of paper towels.

"Where's the paper towel holder?"

"I set it in the laundry room to get it out of the way. It's empty. I used the last one this morning after I made coffee with my new press."

"Bring it back and get another roll out of the pantry."

"There's not any. I looked."

"I ALWAYS have spare paper towels." I looked. There was a better chance of finding a roll in Old Mother Hubbard's cupboard than in the Mansion pantry. "Huh. I guess Dad didn't tell me we were out when he put that roll ON TOP OF THE PAPER TOWEL HOLDER. It's a good thing The Pony talked me into using the Thanksgiving napkins instead of throwing them away and using paper towels."

"I need something to wipe off the olives."

"Here. I'll get you a Puffs."

"NO! They have lotion on them!"

"I don't think it's going to come off on the olives."

"We are NOT using Puffs With Lotion to wipe off the food!"

These clueless eaters. Collectively, they have no idea how close they came to eating floor meat and lotion olives, while pouring their soda into glasses of water.