Remember how Farmer H turned up sick on Saturday morning? And how I've been tending to him like I want him to survive? Giving him chicken soup, special vitamins, hot toddies, unlimited recliner time, and delivering red Solo cups of water to his chairside?
That dirty dog gave it to me!
It didn't have to be that way. He's been sick a handful of times over the past year with assorted head colds. I know how to avoid his cooties.
UNLESS HE'S STANDING 3 FEET AWAY, YELLING AT ME!
Seriously. I've had enough of the king of his castle forcing his will upon the serfs. Farmer H had come back from trying to pay his Storage Unit Store rent for six months (nobody home at the units), and made a quick trip to Menard's for plumbing supplies for Pony House, and a tub of dog treats I'd asked for. I was sitting at HIPPIE at the kitchen table when he came back.
"Hey! What are you doing? Go on through. I don't want you breathing on me."
"I'm just standing here, putting these dog biscuits in the empty chicken meatball tub. They didn't have any more of those meatballs."
"You can turn sideways! There's no reason to have your face pointing right at me! Or do it at the counter, not the table."
"I'll do it anywhere I want. It's MY house."
"I think we've established that fact already. Just turn halfway, where you're breathing out at the windows, not at my face. I can hear you wheezing. I don't want to breathe your germs."
"I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU'RE LIKE THIS! IT'S RIDICULOUS! I CAN STAND ANYWHERE I WANT!"
"Now you're yelling, so those germs can shoot farther down my throat!"
"JUST STOP ALREADY!"
"I wish YOU'D just stop!"
"You always say I give it to you when you get sick! It's not coming from me!"
"Pretty sure it is. You don't ever think about other people. Just yourself."
Farmer H finally got those dog biscuits poured into the tub, and stomped off to the living room for a short nap before eating the chicken noodle soup I made for him, and drinking the hot toddy.
Anyhoo... two days later, and I have A COUGH! Not a bad cough. A wet, throat-clearing cough that comes and goes. Nothing hacking. More like a HARUMPH to get that fluid out of my upper lungs. I don't feel bad, just kind of chilled. And wheezy. When I lie down, I can't sleep because I hear the crackles and whistles of my alveoli trying to expel that fluid. The nose isn't congested. No headache. No other aches except for the knees, which are always a problem.
The timing points to FARMER H as my infector! I didn't go anywhere on Saturday, because of the snow. And two days later, I have this cough.
Has Farmer H offered to make me soup or a hot toddy? NOT-HEAVEN NO! In fact, now that I don't feel up to snuff, he says HE feels worse. Even though he went over to work on Pony House Monday morning, and was back by noon. I TOLD him that wasn't a good idea, that half a day would be more than enough.
HARUMPH! Excuse me. I've got some lung fluid to hack up. And a giant horsepill vitamin to swallow.
6 comments:
It is HIS house? I guess you contribute nothing--monetary or labor--to the house...
Give it back to him. It's better to give than receive. Hack up some stuff and spray it his way...
Well damn! Now I wish I had told you in my MUM voice that when other household members are sick YOU should wear a mask inside to at least lessen your chances of breathing in those germs and viruses. do you have any disinfectant spray you can spritz around the house? even though it's probably too late now. Of course it goes without saying that Hick should have also been wearing a mask, but there's zero chance he would listen to or act upon that advice.
Sioux,
Farmer H has always referred to everything as HIS. Not OURS. Sometimes, I think of him as the Dabney Coleman character in "9 to5." A Sexist, Egotistical, Lying Hypocritical Bigot. Except maybe the bigot part.
Sioux 2,
I could lick the rim of his hot toddy mug, except he didn't want one today, because HE is feeling BETTER.
***
River,
Even your Mum voice would not penetrate my stubbornness. I'm not wearing a mask when I'm already panting from being sick. It's not like Farmer H was spraying me with spittle. He was just too close, where I could feel his breath. If we were outside in the cold, I would have been in the cloud of vapor from his breath. The sick-making parts are too small to be stopped by a mask. Only the spit drops are impeded.
HeWho knows better that to proclaim ownership of this place! Well, to me, anyway. He accepted the ower offer without bothering to even consult me and is now wondering when I will "just get over it". One would think he should now that I might forgive him, but I will NEVER forget it!
Kathy,
Don't let him off the hook!
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