Farmer H Might Want To Shovel A Few More Bones Out Of Juno's House

Unless he likes getting stabbed and poked with errant antlers and assorted long bones, Farmer H might want to do some almost-summer cleaning in Juno's dog house. He'll be residing there for a few nights.

Let the record show that Farmer H called me no fewer than 4 times on Sunday. Once I was updating my blog comments. Once I was on the toilet in the NASCAR bathroom. Once I was eating lunch (I hope the sound of crunching chips annoyed him). Once I was typing a blog post. Yet each time, I dutifully answered the phone. Except for that toilet time. We don't have a phone in the NASCAR bathroom. Only in the master bathroom.

Anyhoo... from the first phone call around 10:30 a.m., it was decided that for supper, Farmer H would have fish and slaw and potato salad and Hawaiian Rolls. Prepared by me, of course. Well. Frozen fish warmed in the oven, and slaw and potato salad courtesy of The Devil's Playground deli, set out of FRIG II by me, and the Hawaiians in the cabinet for him to find. The dinner hour was to be 6:00. Not to eat, but for me to start preparations. It takes 20 minutes.

Farmer H was running around all day. At 3:30, he called to say that he was on his way to pick up This Guy, and driving to This Guy's Son's house, to return scaffolding he'd been using in the $5000 house. I again confirmed that supper would be started at 6:00.

When 6:00 rolled around, I'd heard nothing from Farmer H. No dogs barking, no Gator motor, no lawnmower, no stumping up above my office. Well. Except for that time around 2:00, when I was sure I heard him, but he wasn't home. I figured there was no need to start supper if he wasn't going to be home when the food was warm. I sent him a text at 6:07.

"Should I start supper?"

There was no response. At 6:15, I ascended from my lair, thinking that perhaps Farmer H was counting on waltzing through the door to pick up his plate to feast, foregoing any small talk about our respective days while the food was cooking. At 6:19 I called him.

Can you believe Farmer H acted put-out that I dared to call??? After I had been answering his calls all day? He said he was just then taking This Guy to his house.

"Well, I thought I was making supper at 6:00."

"Oh. I... uh... didn't think about what time it was."

"Now I've come up here for nothing. I have other things I could be doing. It'll be at least a half hour until you're home. I won't get back downstairs until 7:30!"

"You can go ahead and cook. I can warm it up when I get home."

"I think I'll do that. Instead of wasting more time."

You might notice that Farmer H did not say that he could MAKE HIS OWN supper. When he'd done so the previous night! So I turned on the oven, slapped four fish onto a pan already covered with non-stick foil from my lunch, and sat down to wait until time to flip the fish over. Then I got my plate ready, buttering a Hawaiian, while waiting for it to finish.

I had just set the crispy fish on top of the stove when Farmer H strode in the kitchen door. It was 6:50. He went to take his medicine, then stormed the kitchen. Which kind of made me not want to get the rest of the stuff ready, so I only plopped the slaw and potato salad on the cutting block, and said to Not-Heaven with the spoons, he could darn well open a drawer and get those for himself. After all, I'd flipped over the ketchup bottle to let the remains run down to the spout. I was exhausted!

Not even a thank-you from Farmer H! Not even a sorry! All he did was start running his mouth about why was I so cranky.

Sometimes, Farmer H doesn't know how good he's got it. Now my sweet, sweet Juno will be the one punished, by having to share her house with him!