I am still reaping the benefits of my birthday window.
On Sunday evening, after we returned from the casino, Farmer H made his own supper! I told him I had no plans for cooking. So that might have influenced his decision. I DID, however, offer to bring him a Hardee's Chicken Bowl from town when I went to get my 44 oz Diet Coke. He declined.
Around 6:00, comfortably caffeinated, and ensconced in my dark basement lair, my nostrils detected a not-altogether-unpleasant aroma of frying nitrites. Farmer H had mentioned frying himself some bologna and eggs. Let the record show that they were store-bought eggs, due to our lack of layers, due to the invasion of the chicken-killers, the neighbors' fleabags.
I was shocked that the newly-revived smoke detector did not scream in alarm. I was even more shocked, at 3:00 a.m. when I went upstairs for bed, to find the kitchen cleaned up! Since Farmer H had informed me that he would be cooking, I figured he would see no reason to disguise his behavior by washing the pan and plate that he used.
Not only had he scrubbed my non-stick skillet, the metal (!) spatula, and his plate and fork...but he had washed about four spoons, a knife, and two plastic containers (one an opaque quart tub from carryout hot & sour chicken, the other a white flat rectangle that once held Chinese hot braised chicken). I made a mental note to tell Farmer H that I appreciated his homemaking skills.
That evening, as I was preparing supper, I decided to put those clean dishes away while my spaghetti noodles boiled.
The white flat rectangle nearly squirted out of my hands! It had a greasy film all over it. As did the opaque quart tub. So I ran a sink of dishwater to re-wash them.
I guess Farmer H gets an 'A' for effort.
Though I am holding off on the thank-you, lest his behavior prove to be an evil plot to guarantee that I never ask him to wash dishes during his retirement.