We all have our weaknesses. The things that aren't good for us, that we crave and cannot resist. You might think that Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's weaknesses include 44 oz Diet Coke, scratch-off tickets, gas station chicken, and slot machines. You'd be right.
Farmer H has a weakness. I'm pretty sure you have heard about it before. Farmer H's weakness is HOT DOGS! I suppose, as weaknesses go, it could be worse. It's not like he's going to mortgage the Mansion to cover the money he spends on hot dogs. He's not cheating on me with hot dogs. Nobody's going to break his kneecaps because he didn't repay their hot dogs. The police won't lock him up if they find hot dogs in the car when they stop him for a routine traffic violation (or roust him at the park where he's sleeping off his lunch of...wait a minute...we might be getting into dangerous territory).
Last week, I asked Farmer H what he wanted for supper this week. It's enough strain on me cooking for him and washing up his dishes for one meal a day, without THINKING for him, too. Farmer H said he'd like some hot dogs wrapped in biscuits. Some people might call it a pig-in-a-blanket, but we just call it a hot dog in a biscuit. I used to make them for the boys when they were little. That has to be before the #1 Son entered 3rd Grade, because his teacher that year told the students what hot dogs are made of, and then he wouldn't eat them, and almost made The Pony forsake them as well. Almost. The Pony continued to partake until HE had that same teacher for 3rd Grade.
Anyhoo...I asked Farmer H if he wanted the big fat hot dogs that I get at Save A Lot, or the regular hot dogs. He said regular, since they were going in biscuits, though he prefers the big fat ones for grilling. So I bought a package of hot dogs. There are eight in a pack, you know. And for good measure, I bought a package of Little Smokies, which I thought he might want to try in biscuits as well. Kind of like we might be having a non-alcoholic cocktail party with diet sodas and this fancy hors d'oeuvre, but without a butler and a silver serving tray and a toothpick with fancy colored cellophane on the end. I also got three cans of biscuits. Not the jumbo peel-apart kind that Farmer H prefers, or the jumbo butter-flavored kind that The Pony likes. Just a plain buttermilk biscuit, ten to a can.
I asked Farmer H what night he wanted his hot dogs in biscuits. He said Sunday night would be fine. I asked if he wanted me to make four, so he could eat two and have two the next night, and he said, "Yeah." That's a quote, people! I said I could warm the leftover two in the oven for him, and get the crisp outer crunch on the biscuit again. Farmer H said, "Or I might just microwave them. We'll see." Again, that's a quote!
I made the hot dogs in biscuits. They turned out really well. Not that it's rocket science or anything. But I remembered to put the seam side down, so they didn't open up like a clam shell during baking. I set the pan on the stove, and told Farmer H they were ready. I went out to feed the dogs their evening snack. When I came back, Farmer H was just leaving the kitchen, headed for his La-Z-Boy, plate in hand.
THE HOT DOG PAN WAS EMPTY!
I swiveled my neck like Linda Blair in The Exorcist. Farmer H had ALL FOUR hot dogs, in their respective pairs of biscuits, on his paper plate! Along with the curly fries that he'd also requested. Don't get me wrong. I didn't want any of them. I don't begrudge Farmer H the food on his plate. He can eat what he wants. I don't criticize. Well. Except for those Casey's donuts that he's not supposed to have. Anyhoo...my point is that WE ALREADY DISCUSSED THE LEFTOVERS. Uh huh. Meaning that there would be LEFTOVERS!
Also, when Farmer H asks for some dish, and I prepare it, and then he leaves a bunch of it in the pan, and I ask what was wrong with it, he says, "HM, I don't eat as much as you think I eat." Well. He'd certainly proved his point. I never thought he would eat four hot dogs and eight biscuits in one sitting.
I followed Farmer H into the living room and said, "So...I guess I don't need to set out a container for the other two."
"No. I'm eating them."
Then Farmer H must have had a flash of conscience. Or an overdose of nitrates and nitrites. Because I'm sure he doesn't remember the Veal Prince Orloff incident with Lou Grant and Mary Richards's dinner party, when Lou Grant, under duress, put back half of the Veal Prince Orloff he had taken off the platter. Farmer H said, "Well, I guess you can put up two of them for tomorrow."
I did. And when I went to look for them the next night, they were GONE! Because Farmer H had microwaved them for his LUNCH, defeating the purpose of me making the two extra, and in dire need of an idea of what to feed Farmer H for the supper that was going to be warmed-up hot dogs in biscuits.
Farmer H said not to worry. "I'll find something. There's that Chinese chicken in there." That he had asked for from Walmart.
"Yes. And the ham I baked so you could have sandwiches."
"Yeah. I'll find something."
Today I was rooting around on the second shelf of FRIG II, putting away a few groceries, and I saw that the package with the four remaining hot dogs that I'd put in a baggie looked all twisted. Not like I put it in there. I moved it over, and noticed that instead of FOUR hot dogs inside, there were only two. When I was making Farmer H 's supper tonight, I asked what happened to the two hot dogs.
"I eat 'em!"
"Well, I noticed that the Chinese chicken was still there. I figured you had ham."
"No. I had the hot dogs. I was gonna have 'em on buns, but the buns didn't smell right."
"I guess not. Because I didn't BUY buns, because I bought three cans of biscuits, because I thought you'd have them again another night."
"Well, I WANTED 'em. You can still cook the other two another night."
"Yes. Two hot dogs and ten biscuits. That'll be good."
"Oh. I didn't think about the biscuits."
Not that it matters. It's not like Farmer H used caviar to bait a hook to catch some cannibal fish. It's just that he's so totally unpredictable, never going by what he tells me.
Except when he's TOTALLY predictable. Like when I opened the cabinet, and just as I expected, found the buns he wouldn't eat because they didn't smell right. That's what YOU'D do, isn't it? If something didn't smell right, and you didn't want to eat it, you'd put it back where you got it. Right?