Necessity Is The Farmer H Of Invention

It's been another one of those days. Even Steven is settling a score, perhaps.

Sunday, my hands had a mind of their own. Or the mind of Even Steven. Had I known what was in store for me, I might have gone straight to bed, and demanded that Farmer H wait on me hand and foot and PopArm. Yeah. We know I wouldn't attempt that tactic. I want to LIVE!

When I got back from town, I had a few Country Mart items to put away. Some sweet onions, biscuits, and treats for a Halloween package I was sending The Pony. I'd been eager to get everything home, and had not taken care of my financial business as soon as I got back to T-Hoe. So I had a receipt and debit card in my pocket, which needed to be put in the checkbook.

I reached into my shirt pocket an withdrew the receipt and debit as I returned to the kitchen from the bathroom (and my wonderful new toilet seat). As I laid them on the cutting block, I heard something fall. Huh. What in the world else did I have in my pocket? Just an odd ibuprofen and acetaminophen. Maybe a Pepcid. I like to travel prepared. WAIT! I saw it on the floor. A Lifesavers Wint-O-Green mint.

It had rolled to the edge of FRIG II. Was peeking out from the little vented kickboard thingy at the base. How was I going to get that out? I grabbed the wire-handled flyswatter that hangs on a hook on the cutting block. That should do the trick. But it DIDN'T! I laid it flat, at an angle, and dragged the handle towards me. I'll be ding dang donged it that mint didn't hop up and scoot itself deeper under FRIG II! No matter how many swipes I made, I couldn't get that mint to come out the side. Oh, well. Guess it won't hurt anything. It's not like I was going to eat it.

Speaking of eating...I made a roast and vegetables before I went to town. When I took my supper to my lair, it was totally uncooperative. I like a little mayo on the side. Don't judge! I put a dab in a ramekin, then dip the ends of the fork in before stabbing a bite of roast. Of course the mayo had to drip off the fork, and land not in my bowl of veggies, not on my plate of roast, but on my tray that holds them.

I'd no sooner cleaned up my tray than a tasty bit of roast-juice-soaked onion slipped off my fork. It did not land back in its bowl, nor on the plate of roast, nor on the tray now cleaned of mayo...but on the counter at the left of New Delly! Sweet Gummi Mary! I might as well have Farmer H build me a trough, and do away with utensils altogether.

But that's not all. I'd brought down fresh ice cube crescents in a bubba cup to add to the remaining 22 oz of my magical elixir. As I reached inside for a few cubes, the end of one flipped another cube over the rim. It skittered around on the counter at my right, spinning in a semi-circle, until it went over the edge. I fished it up with my telescoping backscratcher's metal hand, by balancing it against my New Balance, and put it in a bowl left from lunch's chips. It was not a pretty sight, coated with some dust from under the desk, and a couple hairs from my shedding lovely lady mullet.

THAT'S not even the worst incident that befell me! I was sitting on the long couch, talking to Farmer H, while I taped up a box to fill with The Pony's treats. We have some good tape that Farmer H brought home once upon his employment time, with tough strands running through it. I have to use scissors to cut it, since there's no dispenser. I also have to put a finger on the piece left on the roll, because if you don't fold it over for a little flap, it's almost impossible to get loose again.

Well. I was holding the end of the tape that I hadn't smoothed down on the box yet, fingers splayed to keep a little bit of the roll tape loose, and I CUT MY FINGER! Yep. Snipped the tape, snipped the finger. I smoothed down the box edge, and exclaimed to Farmer H,

"Now what am I gonna do? It's bleeding!"

Did Farmer H jump out of the La-Z-Boy to rescue me? Where he was feeding on illicit REAL candy that I'd tossed him during packing, a mini square of Butterfinger, and a mini KitKat. To perhaps apply a tourniquet, or pressure, or get me a bandaid? No. He did not. He did, however, shout his advice.

"Just put a piece of tape over it."

So I snipped again, even more difficult while not-cutting myself, and trying not to spill blood, and fold over the tape left on the roll. I got a small section of tape, suitable for staunching the leak of my life fluid.

The cut was just a snip, a single line, but the tape spread out the blood in its grooves.

It was awkward, but worked surprisingly well. I left it on until bedtime.