Farmer H is going to have breakfast with Genius in College Town on Thursday morning. Never mind that Genius has classes from 11:00 to 3:00, and must squeeze in the measurements for, and ordering of, his graduation cap and gown between the time they start at 10:00, and still get to his first class. Farmer H hopes to arrive by 8:30, pick up Genius at his apartment, and go eat.
"I can always go with him while he orders his cap and gown. So I can spend more time with him."
"I'm pretty sure you don't want to do that."
"Why? I ain't afraid of no college kids."
"Well, it will probably be a pretty busy place, and the people running it might not want you in the way."
"I don't care what they want. If I want to see my boy, I'll see my boy."
Such is the fully-retired life of Farmer H. He seems to turn up at the most inopportune times. Like this morning, in the Mansion kitchen.
I had just made a big roaster pan of potatoes and carrots and onions, sprinkled with Hidden Valley Ranch Dip powder, and draped with bacon, for our suppers the next several days. Had just slid it into the oven, washed up the dishes that appeared last night after I did the supper dishes, and plopped down in the La-Z-Boy with Shiba to check in on the innernets before my shower and town trip.
Well! Here came Farmer H across the front yard on his Gator. I heard him enter the kitchen. Heard the door of FRIG II open and close. The microwave door with two drawer handles acting as openers also opened and closed. I heard a scraping noise. Then Farmer H clomped over to the long couch carrying a plate of steaming chili dogs.
I swear, the Dawn dish soap Hawaiian Pineapple suds were not yet evaporated from around the sink drain! I had not even hit the POWER button on Shiba! It was 10:59 a.m.
Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is not one to throw stones at early eaters. She, herself, spent over 10 years feasting at the crack of 10:53 a.m. with members of the Newmentia Lunch Time Think Tank. However, now that her circadian clock has reset, she doesn't lunch until 1:00 or 2:00. Which is neither here nor there, but she most certainly does not want dirty dishes like a quart Chinese soup container coated with chili lining the counter so soon after she has cleaned up the previous dirty dishes lining the counter.
Let's hope that Genius enjoys the one-on-one time with Farmer H. And that Mrs. HM gets out of one dishwashing session while Farmer H is away.
I hope he hurries back, so you don't miss too much time without him...
ReplyDeleteHawaiian Pineapple suds?? Thank goodness we don't have that over here. I'd probably fill the sink, get a whiff of pineapple and insert a straw. I loved pineapple milkshakes as a kid.
ReplyDeleteHave you ever had a pineapple milkshake with strawberry ice cream? Yummy!!
ReplyDeleteSioux,
ReplyDeleteHe's BAAAAAACK! Got home around 2:15, about an hour after I did. Still. An hour's an hour. I had some time in the morning, but it was wasted on writing bills and taking a shower and shopping.
***
River,
It smells GREAT! I alternate between that scent, and an orange one that's citrus. By the time I get tired of one, it's time to buy the new stuff.
***
fishducky,
I have not had such a milkshake. Can't speak for River. It sounds delicious, though.
No. Always a pineapple milkshake with either vanilla or pineapple ice cream.
ReplyDeleteNow I want a milkshake. I used to do a lot of cross stitch, one of my favorites was the one that said "I love a man with dishpan hands". Turns out that they make a bigger mess if they attempt to clean up the original mess ...... Can't win.
ReplyDeleteKathy,
ReplyDeleteAt least I don't think Farmer H would eat a milkshake by dipping his hand in and shoveling it in his face. If he didn't have a straw, though, he would have milkshake on his walrus-y mustache hairs.