His Timing Is Uncanny

Only three days of freedom left for Mrs. Hillbilly Mom! Farmer H will be ALL HERS, 24/7/365, by the end of the week. By THURSDAY, actually.

Farmer H's knack for bad timing is paralleled only by my knack for good timing. This morning he was up and out of the Mansion before I was out of bed. That's a good thing. Can't fault him for that. That's not the bad timing to which I refer. Nor the good.

I was standing at the cutting block, putting the first stir on a batch of Chex Mix, having yet to slide it into the oven, merely distributing the Worcestershire sauce and oil and garlic powder and garlic salt...when Farmer H strode through the kitchen door.

"Mmm...it smells good in here!"

"I haven't even put it in the oven yet! It's still got two hours to go."

"Yeah, but it DOES smell good. Do you want this?" Farmer H held up a small paper sack from Hardee's. "It's a sausage biscuit."

"No."

"Okay. I'll have it for my lunch later."

I pulled open the oven door, and bent to slide in the first pan of Chex Mix, the roaster pan, on the top rack. At that very moment, Farmer H yanked open the door of FRIG II, slamming it into my ample rumpus. Yeah. It's going to be a long rest of my life. What are the odds that he would show up at that very moment, with a spare sausage biscuit (that we all know was never intended for me) and stash it in FRIG II?

Probably about the same odds of me taking some casino money and winning scratchers, and buying four Golden Tickets today, and having three winners:

That's ONE.

That's TWO.

That's THREE!

Yes. That's THREE $100 WINNERS in one day! Out of four tickets. I more than doubled my money.

I guess as far as timing goes, Farmer H and Mrs. Hillbilly Mom are like Jack Spratt and his wife. We complement each other.