Seems like only yesterday ('cause it WAS) that I was ranting about Farmer H ordering me to hand him a paper plate, because he was too lazy to unstick the two that were stuck together. I've had enough of that crap. This time, I set a trap!
Farmer H made himself a ham sandwich for lunch. He used the GOOD paper plates, the sturdy ones, not the white plain version. So I couldn't quibble with him over his plate selection. However, as he was sitting in his La-Z-Boy with his sandwich, I began preparing my own lunch. Not much preparation needed, since The Devil's Playground was out of pinwheels of any kind, the last two trips I made there.
My new lunch this week has been a can of Sardines in Mustard Sauce, and a slice of Ozark Hearth 22 Grains and Seeds Bread. All I have to do is toss a can of sardines on my tray, add a slice of bread, and make sure I have a fork. I do use a plate, though. I'm not a savage!
I was sure there'd be a single plate in the Everyday China rack. The one left after I peeled them apart for Farmer H when he commanded me at the previous night's supper. Sadly, there was not! He must have used another one for something else. So...I peeled two plates apart, and put one on my tray for lunch, and put the other one back.
"Wait just a minute!" I told myself. "Why leave a single plate there for HIM? I'm taking both of them, and that single one that's next! He'll have to tear off his own plate if he wants one for his rolls when he warms up supper!"
See what I did there? I put three plates on my tray, stacked on top of each other. That way, I could bring my tray up later, discard the top plate that was used, and still have one ready to go for my next meal. While Farmer H would have to pry his own plates apart if he wanted one out of the rack.
Sweet Gummy Mary! He's a sly one, Farmer H!
I came upstairs before my supper to find a paper plate laying on the counter. Farmer H had used it to write on. I'd been asking him for days to sell me some one-dollar bills and some dimes and quarters from his Storage Unit Store cash. That way, he has fewer small bills and change to carry, and I have soda money for a couple weeks. Written on the plate was: $10 ones, $3 quarters, $7 dimes.
I picked up the note-written plate, and it was a SINGLE! Good! I reached to the rack, expecting to find a single in front, since Farmer H had obviously torn two apart.
NOPE! Double. And the one after it a double! Farmer H had bypassed the front of the plates, and foraged for a single! That's dirty pool! Of course I went straight to the boys' bathtub to confront him about it. I saw him in there this time, leaning forward when I came up, so I wasn't a creepy hideaway thing.
Of course I chastised Farmer H for rifling through the stuck-together plates until he came to a single plate. He denied it. Over and over. I wish he would just admit it! I even told him how I'd set the trap, so I KNEW there was no single plate in front, as he kept insisting.
Oh, yeah. He ALSO insisted that the bigger Styrofoam bowl that I'd set out for my salad, and he'd filled with 12 dirty junk quarters (!) was actually meant to have coins in it, because he got it from the bottom of the stack of bowls I have coins in. Um. NO. Because all those bowls are the small ones, and the small bowl with four quarters left in it was still there on the bottom of the stack. I'd left that big bowl on top, knowing I'd be putting my salad together in that spot on the counter.
I swear. These big ol' bears are SO easy to trap. Even if they fancy themselves good liars.
4 comments:
Sudden thought: What if Farmer H isn't lying, but actually believes he has done what he claims?
fishducky,
Well, then I've have to give him sympathy! And I'm not ready for that. Besides, you can see in his face that he's not being completely honest. He's a terrible liar, but won't give in. I could have a hidden video of him doing it, and still he'd deny. He's been like that since I met him. He'll never admit to a wrong-doing.
It's like that time he cut The Pony's ear when giving him a summer haircut on the back porch. Farmer H was the one with the clippers. The Pony's ear was clearly bleeding. Yet the only apology poor little Pony got was, "Well, IF I hurt you, then I GUESS I'm sorry."
The next time The Pony was called outside for a summer haircut, he was told to get a towel. You know, to keep the hair from itching as it fell on his bare shoulders. He was only in the single-digit age. He came holding the folded towel out in front of him, saying solemnly, "This is to catch the blooood."
Sadly, I think the only way you're going to win this round is to take the entire stack of stuck plates and prise them all apart, then put them back.
Poor young Pony, being made to bring his own towel/bandage to the scene of the crime.
River,
I stashed the single ones back in the cabinet, and left ONLY the stuck-together pairs! He'll probably just use two at a time, though. He's THAT obstinate.
Poor little Pony! I laughed at the time, but my heart was breaking for him.
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