It Has Come To Pass

Now that Farmer H and I are living the life, my greatest fears about retirement have come to pass. He's home too dang much, making demands on my time! Passive-aggressive demands!

Since the Fly-by-Night Drug Courier Service has not yet contacted Farmer H to make a run (another story all its own), he's underfoot. It's too hot to hang out at his Storage Unit Store shooting the bull. Too hot to straighten up his Freight Container Garage full of Storage Unit Store stuff. Poolio seems to have lost his luster. And there are only so many days a week Farmer H can spend four hours at the barbershop, getting his sparse hair cut.

Wednesday morning, he came home from who knows where, and sat down on the long couch with a manilla file folder.

"I have my paperwork from that drug place. I'm gonna make a copy before I give it back."

Farmer H thumbed through the folder, remarking on different forms. There must have been 15 pages in that folder.

"What you MEAN is...I'M going to make a copy of all those before you take it back."

"There you go. No. I was planning to make my own copies."

"On MY copier/printer? You don't even know how. You'll get it all messed up. I'll do it."

"It's not MY fault you have stuff piled all over it!"

See, there's the thing. Farmer H can have 20 buildings (some made especially for such purposes) piled high with junk...but let ME stack some printouts of receipts pertaining to The Pony's college expenses on top of my copier/printer (mainly used as a printer), and he's ready to call Hoarders.

"I'll go down and move it over."

"FORGET IT! I'll go to town and find SOMEBODY that will copy it for me!"

"Okay. Whatever."

See, I'm not going to beg Farmer H to let me make his copies for him. I'm done playing his games. He has tantrums like a toddler when he doesn't get his way RIGHT AT THE MOMENT HE WANTS IT. He waves his arms and raises his voice and sometimes swears at me because I DON'T DO NOTHIN' for him. That's Farmer H's way of dealing with our togetherness. Mine is trashing him on the innernets.

Kind of made me regret those FIVE PAGES of attractions near the Henry Ford Museum in Michigan (that I'd printed out the night before, after searching for them, at Farmer H's request) that I'd left for him overnight, on the bathroom counter by his glasses.