Some days I think I could write a song about Farmer H, and call it The 12 Days of Slothness. That would mean that I only had 12 days, though.
Last night I pointed out a used paper towel laying on the coffee table, in front of Shiba my laptop, over by the long couch. I'm pretty sure it was put there by HOS-son during his pizza feast with Farmer H on Friday night before the auction. So it had been there three nights.
Well! Farmer H huffed and acted incredulous. As if he couldn't believe that I was pointing out that double-select-a-size paper towel with sauce on one corner! As if he thought it was MY JOB to pick it up! Obviously, I was slacking in my duties as Picker-Upper of All Things Left Laying Around. Let the record show that I cooked the pizza, and then went to my dark basement lair. Supper was served by Farmer H, who had extended the invitation to HOS-son without bothering to tell me until two hours before. I know that Farmer H ate while sitting in his La-Z-Boy, and I assume that HOS-son ate at the coffee table while sitting on the long couch. So it appears to me that, as host, Farmer H was responsible for supervision of a seven-year-old.
Sunday night, Farmer H also made a whooshing sound when I called over my shoulder from the kitchen for him to wrap up his leftovers when they cooled. It's not like that required MENSA membership, or superhuman strength. Farmer H had asked for hot dogs wrapped in biscuits. Pigs-in-a-blanket, some might call them. I made four. He was eating two. Which left two for the next night. They were each sitting on a piece of foil. ALL HE HAD TO DO was fold up the sides, and take three steps to FRIG II and put them on the top shelf.
But no. He took offense to that request, so I had to wait for them to cool and wrap them up myself. While waiting, I asked if he had swept the kitchen floor.
"NO! I didn't sweep no kitchen floor!"
"Oh. It was smooth. I didn't see mud on it, and my bare feet didn't crunch any."
"Well, I picked up that one big clod, because you kept harping about it."
So much for thinking Farmer H had done a good deed. He fooled me again. Kind of like that week I was really sick, and left the trash dumpster at the end of the driveway because I couldn't catch my breath, and the weather was cold. And Farmer H took out a bag of trash...but rather than having brought the dumpster down as I imagined...he drove the bag of trash to the end of the driveway and put it in the dumpster and left it.
I swear. That man is so petty that The Heartbreakers could follow him around, now that Tom isn't keeping them busy any more.
Oh dear God, I can't stand it! Petty doesn't even begin to describe it. Clearly he was not properly trained by his Mama.
ReplyDeleteOn the other hand, maybe I'm being unfair. I DID train my sons, daughters too, and two of them are just like Farmer H. one of the boys and one of the girls.
They're so engrossed in what they are doing they simply don't see the leftovers that need to be dealt with. Perhaps Farmer H is the same.
River,
ReplyDeleteHeh, heh! YOU can't stand it? Imagine how much I can't stand it!
There may be a slight excuse. I'll do the whole story, the comments section isn't big enough.
Only so much can be blamed on a lack of training. Sometimes, it must be due to nature, not nurture.
Definitely nature. My two know how to clean and they do their own washing in a timely manner, but everything else falls under "I'll do it later" and here's the difference. To me, "later" means sometime later the same day, certainly before going to bed. Their "Later" is anytime before the end of the current century. They are 36 and 40 years old, so I leave them to it.
ReplyDeleteRiver,
ReplyDeleteI kind of understand their "later." I'm a bit of a procrastinator myself!