Mrs. HM's Chex Mix: Soon To Be A Product Of The East Coast

I got a text from Genius around noon on Friday. Such a surprise, since he was JUST HERE! Sometimes he goes a month without communicating. Or more.

"Your Chex Mix is a big hit with our friends too. Can I get the recipe for it?"

"Eventually! Want it in the next letter, or an email later today?"

"An email later today would be great. One of our friends is asking for it."

"Do they have a big speckled roasting pan, or just the 9 x 13 metal cake pans?"

"I expect just the 9 x 13 cake pans. That's what we have and I suspect will be more common."

I had it sent within a couple hours.

"Got it!"

"Hope it turns out okay."

"I'll let you know if I hear anything about their attempt!"

"Okay. It takes years to become a Master Chexman!"

We'll see how they do. Probably wanting to make it for New Year's Eve snacks...

A New Bad Habit For Farmer H

Last week I became annoyed with Farmer H when he was trying to respond to my interrogations. How rude! He was chomping away at something while trying to talk. I was reminded of the restaurant scene in Miss Congeniality where Michael Caine tells Sandra Bullock, "I was distracted by the half-masticated cow rolling around in your wide-open trap."

"What are you eating? Just stop! Swallow it!"

"I ain't eatin' nothin'! It's gum."

"Eww. Why did you buy gum? You look ridiculous!"

"I didn't buy it. It was free."

"That's just what you need! MORE sugar!"

"It's sugar free. It's Dentyne."

Not sure where Farmer H got free gum. I was too astounded to ask. I had to look away while talking to him. I swear he puts that gum somewhere overnight and then chews it again. It's just a small pack, yet it seems to have 500 pieces! I wish it was gone.

A 68-year-old man chomping on gum is not an appealing sight.

The Exotic Breads Of Hillmomba

No! That wasn't clickbait! Just honoring a request from blog buddy River, who wanted to see the strange breads called "Hawaiian," and "Honey Wheat," which Farmer H bought for our Christmas ham sandwiches.

We shall start with the Hawaiian bread:

There are the slices we had left. Nothing remarkable about the appearance. The texture is very soft. It's a sweet-tasting bread.

Front label. It's a half loaf, because we usually don't eat a lot of bread around the Mansion.

Back label, in case you want to see nutritional information and ingredients.

This is a brand carried by Country Mart. When I buy Hawaiian bread, I usually get the most famous brand, King's Hawaiian. They have a wide variety of Hawaiians! Dinner rolls, pretzel rolls, mini sub rolls, sliced bread, hamburger buns, hot dog buns, slider buns that look like mini hamburger buns, and a round loaf that comes in an aluminum pie pan, suitable for hollowing out and putting dip or serving something else in a bread bowl.

Now for the Honey Wheat bread:

As you would imagine, the Honey Wheat has a courser texture than the Hawaiian bread. It's still soft, but a little more grainy from the wheat. If I concentrate, I get a hint of the honey flavor.

The front of the bag. For once we're going to finish it before the expiration date!

The back label. Tastes better than you would expect, after seeing that long list of preservatives!

There you have it, the exotic breads of Hillmomba!

Like Grandma, Like Pony

Not only was my mom known for her love of slaw, but around here she was known for leaving a trail. A trail of paper towels wherever she went. Almost like a trail of breadcrumbs through the forest. You could track her route by the crumpled paper towels. Technically, they were HALF paper towels. A half of an already-half called Select-A-Size.

Sometimes Mom used those paper towels to wick away her "glow." Or as most people would call it, SWEAT. Like when she didn't turn on her air conditioning until August. She liked to save money like that. Sometimes she used her half of a half paper towel for dabbing at her nose, which liked to run when she sat down to eat. 

Anyhoo... I used to tease her about leaving a trail, and she would backtrack and pick up her paper towels, once it was brought to her attention. It was just something she didn't think about.

THE PONY IS TURNING INTO HIS GRANDMA!

The Pony doesn't leave paper towels lying about all willy-nilly. He leaves paper plates!

Tuesday morning, The Pony came out to meet us for a ride to the casino. While we were gathering up our stuff, he helped himself to the last cookie on the cutting block. To be fair, The Pony is the one who baked the cookies, and brought them for dessert at Christmas Dinner. So he was entitled to eat the last one. What he WASN'T entitled to was LEAVING THE PAPER PLATE ON THE CUTTING BLOCK!

Who does that? Eats the last cookie off a plate, and leaves the plate right there, rather than turning and dropping it into the wastebasket less than two feet away!

But wait! That's not all! When we returned from the casino, The Pony came in to get some of his stuff he left on Christmas Day. Some Oberle Sausage and cheese that he'd brought, which we didn't have time to cut open, due to being full from the other food. A person on his route gave it to him. We put it in FRIG 2 unopened, to await its eventual reunion with The Pony.

The Pony added the sticks of sausage and cheese to the bag he was preparing, already containing some cheesecake and the box of crackers he'd brought. LEAVING THE PAPER PLATE IN FRIG 2 THAT HAD JUST HELD THE SAUSAGE AND CHEESE STICKS!

Of course I threw both paper plates away. I wish I had taken pictures, and sent them to The Pony, asking if he could tell what was amiss...

I'm Pretty Sure It Was Just An Attempt To Torture Me

Farmer H is early to bed, and early to rise. Until tonight. I was so mad! He went off and left that TV playing on HIS channel with Gunsmoke or some other western. I strongly dislike westerns. All the characters look and sound alike to me. PLUS the channel kept playing that annoying long commercial with Sarah McLachlan and the pitiful dogs.

Imagine my surprise when, at 10:48, I heard Farmer H say:

"I wish this show would hurry up and get over so I can go to bed!"

Sweet Gummi Mary! He was still up! That's unheard of! Turns out he was watching "The Gambler," a two-hour movie! It went off at 11:00. Yes. He DID change the channel before going to bed.

I don't know how he's going to get up at 6:00 as usual. He shorted himself about three-and-a-half hours of sleep!

I Think Something Might Be Wrong With Farmer H...

Sweet Gummi Mary! Something has gotten into that man! Farmer H has been totally unpredictable for two days! 

On Christmas Eve, I was sitting at the kitchen table putting sliced olives on top of my deviled eggs, when Farmer H chose to cut the ham. He chose to do it because I told him to, but he had known this was his duty before night fell. 

"You can put it in that flat container with the blue lid, the one we use for BBQ meat."

"Okay. Where is that?"

"In the corner cabinet. No. On the BOTTOM cabinets. Bottom shelf. Reach your hand in. You'll feel it there on top of the metal pans I use for the Chex Mix."

"This door is loose!"

"Uh huh. I've been telling you that for the last three years. Since before The Pony moved back from college. Even The Pony asked what was wrong with it."

"It has a bad hinge. Huh. The hings is LOOSE! I'll go get my screwdriver in the basement."

"You can use mine from my little toolbox in the laundry room."

"No. I'll go get mine. It's easier."

"I don't know how THAT is, when mine is just a few steps. A screwdriver is a screwdriver. But knock yourself out if you want to go down to the basement."

Which he did. Twice! To get that very special screwdriver, and then take it back. My corner cabinet door now works like it's new. I wish I knew the secret to making Farmer H discover that something is wrong, and fix it right then.

You won't believe what else he did! That's on my not-so-secret blog...

A Pony Predicament

The Pony awoke on Christmas Eve eve to discover that his water had frozen! Not the water in the kitchen or the second bedroom's bathroom, where Farmer H thought there might be a problem, and advised him to run the clothes dryer that vents under the house. It was his toilet in the master bathroom!

The shower was still fine, and the sink. So Farmer H didn't know if it was in the jetted bathtub, or the toilet line. He went over with a portable heater and stayed a few hours. Didn't get it thawed while The Pony was at work. But once home, The Pony said the bath was working.

"The only thing is, the toilet won't fill. I moved the heater over to the next accessible part of the pipe, where it goes up into the toilet. If that doesn't thaw it, worst case is it fixes itself next week when the temps go above freezing, and I just poop in the hall toilet."

So practical, our little Pony.

When The Pony ran a hot bath for soaking, after delivering mail in the frigid wasteland, he sent me a text:

"Toilet thawed halfway through the bath with an audible KCHUNK."

Farmer H says he will wrap the pipe in heat tape, and put louvered doors on the panels surrounding the jetted tub. To be fair, the rest of the house he was worried about had no problem. Just this northwest corner, with the below-zero temps and the northwest wind buffeting it at 35 mph. It's not our usual winter.

Anyhoo... The Pony is back to pooping in his toilet of choice... such a Christmas miracle for him!

A Staggering Quirk That's Heartbreaking Genius

NOOO! The Universe is conspiring again! Conspiring against Mrs. HM and family!

Friday afternoon, the eve of Christmas Eve, I got a call from the ex-mayor. He said that Niecy tested positive for THE VIRUS. She had just gotten her results, so he wanted to let everyone know who might be attending the Christmas Eve festivities.

"She's four days in. She's gone 24 hours without a fever. She'll mask up. But we thought everyone should know."

"Well... you know how much we love coming over. I know Sis and you put a lot of time and money into preparing the food. I've had it, and should be immune, but after spending those four days in the hospital with it, I'm afraid I'll have to say no. That doesn't mean Farmer H and the boys can't come. We'll talk it over, and I'll let you know."

"Okay. So you'll tell them?"

"Yes. And one of us will respond."

I discussed it with Farmer H, who had the TV muted while eavesdropping. Funny how he can hear my private conversations, but not commands that I bellow at him!

"I know you don't want me to go."

"I don't. But I can't tell you what to do. I know you love eating their food, and being sociable. But don't forget how you've been having tests to prove you're fit for surgery on your back. If you catch something, it could turn to pneumonia, and then you'd be looking at a couple months, minimum, before they'd think your lungs could handle the anesthesia."

"Yeah. When you put it that way, I probably shouldn't take a chance."

I sent Genius a text, and he replied immediately.

"Oh no! We will be seeing Friend's grandpa, so we won't be able to go. We have a gift for Babe. Your Sis has been talking to me all week about how excited Babe is to see Friend. But we can't risk it."

Then I had to inform The Pony, who works so hard, and doesn't get out much, and purely LOVES this yearly party.

"Oh. I guess I probably shouldn't go either, since I'll be around all of you the next day, and could pass something on."

"You never know. Sis and Ex-Mayor have been babysitting Babe all week. They said she isn't sick, but you never know when she might come down with it and not show symptoms for a couple days."

"Yeah. It's best I don't go."

So there you have it. A party ripped out from under our feet like a magician's tablecloth off a fancy dining table. We are sad, and bear Niecy no ill will. We're happy she's feeling better, but have to look out for our own best interests. I hope this does not cause a rift.

Ex-Mayor called back later, and said that Niecy said she would stay home. No. That's not fair to them. She's family, and they've been around her all week already. I told him we had already made other plans, one of them being Genius leaving Pittsburgh later to start his journey through the icy landscape of the storm that just made its way to the east coast. Not that he's on the coast. Just farther east.

"Well, I could have not told anybody, but I felt like I should."

"Yeah. You could have kept silent, and then later said, 'I don't know where all you people got sick! You must have been out to the casino and caught something!'"

Which is in fact a possibility. But as Genius pointed out, the casino will be AFTER he's visited Friend's grandpa. And in a casino, you're not that closed-in and close to people for an extended period. As long as you don't touch your face with slotty hands, you have a pretty remote chance of catching something. It's not like you're handling soda bottles and serving spoons and sitting face-to-face with people at the table.

No Shortage Of Topics For: "This Is The Time Of Day We Discuss The Most Recent Thing You've Done Wrong"

Welp! Farmer H has done it again! Just when I had hopes that he had made a turnaround, and was on a straight and narrow path to pleasing me. In fact, he mopped the kitchen floor, and dusted the piano with my collection of collector ponies that my best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel gifts me with. A very big help, what with me starting the Christmas food preparations.

Farmer H had to go without breakfast for his lab tests on Thursday morning at 6:00. Then he ate some breakfast on the way home. Didn't say what. The Senior Center was closed due to weather. But Farmer H eschewed any lunch I offered. I had not been to bed yet at 10:00 a.m. when he returned home. I said he could have some cheese and crackers if he was hungry for lunch, or some Chex from the Country Mart container, as it has a not-tight lid. Farmer H knows those containers. I showed him when I brought them home earlier in the week.

You know what happened, right? I went to get myself a ramekin of Chex Mix from the designated Country Mart container, and saw that it was at the same level as before.

"Where did you get your Chex Mix?"

"From the tub on the cutting block."

"NOOO! That one was ready to give someone as a gift! I told you to use the Country Mart container. That's for us. Before it goes stale. I can't give it to someone, because the lid isn't tight."

"Well, this one was sitting by itself on the cutting block. So I thought that was the one."

Even though it is the style and color of those Farmer H has bought at the Devil's Playground. Not sure what I'm going to do with him. I guess I need to invest in kitchen towels and clean off the counter, to start hiding the special stuff where he will never think to look...

Two Blind Morons

Farmer H has been complaining all year about the loss of his vest. It's a Carhartt version, with a fleece lining, kind of a greeny-gray canvas exterior. Every cold-weather week, he'd have a different idea about where he left it. Maybe at the auction, on the back of his chair. Or at his friend's house when he went every day to let her little dog out while she was in the hospital, and died unexpectedly. Earlier this week, he thought maybe he'd left it at school last year when he changed out of his Santa costume after the breakfast with the Parents As Teachers kids.

Farmer H is not the only loser! Mrs. HM had a Not-Heaven of a time searching for the flat green plastic containers in which her best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel gifts her with homemade chocolate-covered cherries every Christmas. In fact, she had to inform Mabel that she couldn't find those containers anywhere, this very day when they met for lunch. Don't worry! Mabel is an improvisor! She put those cherries in last year's Chex containers.

A couple hours after we returned from our Mabel lunch, I was at the kitchen table stuffing money into cards for the families of HOS (Farmer H's Oldest Son) and The Veteran. Farmer H was puttering around near the St. Louis Blues bathroom. The boys' bathroom that he had decorated with hockey memorabilia for Genius. The Pony had no preference for the decor where he pooped and peed.

"Guess what I just found!"

"I don't know... more Chex containers?"

"MY VEST! It's MY VEST! I carried something into Genius's room, and there it was! It's been there the whole time!"

"Heh, heh! You idiot!"

I stood up to throw away the package that the money cards came in. As I turned from my chair to round the kitchen peninsula, something caught my attention from the corner of my eye. I turned left, and noticed the cardboard box that sits on the kitchen stool under the cuckoo clock. A three-pack of Puffs With Lotion sits on top of the box. But under the edge of the Puffs, I saw MABEL'S CHERRY CONTAINERS!

What are the odds, people? For Farmer H to find his year-lost vest, and Mrs. HM to find the containers she had just told Mabel were unfindable since last Christmas.

Two Blind Morons, Two Blind Morons 

See how they search. See how they search

One froze all winter for lack of a vest

One almost lost treats for no vessel, no less

Did you ever see two such losers, confess

Two Blind Morons, Two Blind Morons.

The Convenience Was Sorely Lacking

I made fresh Chex Mix on Monday night, and offered to take some by for The Pony. I told him it would be after 3:00. He was taking Farmer H out to lunch for his birthday. 

It was just before 3:00 when I got to the Gas Station Chicken Store. I had some winning scratchers to cash in. I'm in the process of getting the annual Christmas scratchers for The Pony, Genius, Friend, and Farmer H. I had a list of what I needed, from which convenience stores, so as not to buy off the same ticket roll. To me, that's buying a sure loser if you get consecutive tickets.

Anyhoo... I was also headed to the bank for our weekly cash allowance, since I will be busy with Christmas preparations the rest of the week. The bank closes at 4:00. So I wanted to get my business done, and head there before stopping by Pony House.

Only a couple cars were on the lot, but inside the Gas Station Chicken Store was a LINE! A woman was paying with her card, and having problems. Behind her were two young guys. Then an older man behind them. While I was standing in line, a guy from the soda fountain saw us, and walked around to stand in the aisle behind us. Then a dude came in to deliver a package. Than another man to pay for gas.

I was waiting mostly patiently. The woman finally got done with her transaction, and said that yes, she WOULD take the red gas drawing tickets. So there was that explanation, and she lurked around waiting to get to the drawing box behind the Older Man.

Young Guy 1 stepped up, and put a Klondike ice cream bar on the counter. The clerk said, 

"Sorry. There's a $3 minimum to use your card." Young Guy 1 looked mystified, so she added, "Can you pay cash, or go get something else that adds up to $3?"

Off went Young Guy 1, behind me and down the aisle, and up the next aisle where the snacks are. You would think that the line would move while he was looking, but NO! Young Guy 2 just stood there, waiting for Young Guy 1 to come back and pay! 

Young Guy 1 finally came back with a square pack of M&Ms. The clerk turned them over.

"There's no price on these. No orange tag. Can you go back and get another one? I think they're $1.79, but I'm not sure."

Off went Young Guy 1 for more M&Ms. Yep. Everybody had to wait on him to return and pay. SWEET GUMMI MARY! That's ridiculous! Once you step out of line, it should move forward without you! You forfeit your turn!

I knew it was going to be a while. I hate small spaces. Too many people. I left to go to the bank, and returned shortly after 4:00. I was the only customer inside. That's more like it.

I really need to offer line etiquette classes...

Mark Your Calendar!

Even though your 2022 calendars are only good for a couple more weeks, mark them now. NOW, I tell you! There has been a strange development at the Mansion.

Farmer H went to town about an hour late on Monday morning, waiting for a hardware store to open so he could get some rail-making fixtures. Oh, don't jump to the conclusion that it was for those 13 rail-less basement steps. It was not. It was for the SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2), where Farmer H has two large steps out front from the parking lot area. He has some big concrete thingies to keep someone from driving into his unit, heh, heh. An old man was leaning on them to get up the steps this weekend, so Farmer H decided he needed a rail. He decided he needed it even more when the old man fell going down the steps the next day. I'll stop short of that tactic in an effort to get my own rail. Oh, and the old man was not hurt. Farmer H went to check on him. 

Anyhoo... Farmer H was back home before noon:30! Much to my chagrin, but there's a silver lining! He had bought me two long ice scrapers, as I had requested only three times. 

THEN Farmer H went outside on the porch, and checked the landline for our three-years-plus static-y house phone. Turns out the static is coming from the OUTSIDE line, not the house line. So AT&T is responsible for the cost of repairs. Good luck to us getting them to come out before Christmas. And now there's a winter storm coming. So it might be spring before this gets resolved, depending on the weather. At least we know the problem is theirs. Too bad we can't withhold bill payment until it's fixed!

BUT WAIT! I'm not finished. Neither was Farmer H. Out he went to T-Hoe, for his second look at the back windshield washer that wasn't working last week in the rain and mud. His first look back then had him searching on his phone for where the line comes in from under the hood. Apparently it goes under the car, and with his back issue, he can't crawl under to check it out. He said he might first try blasting the line with an air hose in case it's just clogged. The wiper works, but not the fluid.

Anyhoo... Farmer H came back inside saying IT WORKS! But of course he had to school me in how it functions.

"You know you have to hold the button in, right? You can't just push it once."

"Yes. I am aware of that. I've only been driving this car since 2008. So I understand what is needed to wash the back windshield."

"Because if you just push it once, it won't work."

"I KNOW THAT!"

"Well. It works."

"Funny how it didn't last time you looked at it. Maybe you weren't HOLDING IN THE BUTTON!"

"I don't know why it works now, but it does. I jiggled the line first."

"Maybe that knocked something loose. You thought it might be blocked..."

Anyhoo... the main thing is: FARMER H DID THREE CHORES ON MONDAY!

As he went over to the BARn to play with his fishing stuff, he said, "There. Now is there anything else you have to complain about?"

Sweet Gummi Mary! He should know better than to toss that question out into The Universe.

Throwing In The Towel

It's only 9:44 p.m. as I type this, but I'm giving up. Throwing in the towel. Two towels, to be exact. I'm closing my laptop and tossing in a load of laundry, and going to sit on the short couch in my sock cap, two jackets, and pull The Pony's extra-soft fleece throw over every part of my body except my head.

It's been a rough 24 hours, fraught with HIPPIE's death and 8-hour resuscitation efforts, phone problems, and the excruciating cold of my kitchen table office. So I'm done. I'm quitting before the end of my nose drops off from frostbite. Farmer H declares that the temperature is 70 degrees, as shown on the thermostat. But the thermometer by the kitchen door says 66. And I don't think it responds to drafts. 

Catch you later, alligators.

One Big Ol' Elf At Work

It's 1:10 a.m. as I type this, and I've just finished tubbing my fourth batch of Chex Mix. Not all today, of course! That's four for this Christmas season, including the one that had to be thrown out. Gotta get one more in. 

 

Christmas is sneaking up on me, and I have a lunch rendezvous with my best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel this week, three Oreo Cakes to bake, then early preparations for deviled eggs on Christmas Eve at the home of my sister the ex-mayor's wife. Plus the food for our own Christmas dinner. 

We're not giving gifts this year, except for the Chex Mix. Plus Oreo Cakes and Oberle sausage, cheese, crackers, scratchers, and some cash for HOS (Farmer H's Oldest Son) and The Veteran's families. Now that I think of it, that's quite a lot, considering I'm in charge of providing all of it!

I'm even farther behind that I thought!

You Schmooze, You Lose

I had to get bananas at Country Mart on Friday. While there, I also picked up 5 lb of potatoes for our Christmas dinner, and 3 lb of onions, 16 oz sour cream, some generic Rice Chex and Corn Chex, and Velveeta. Aside from the bananas, these were sale items. Except the generic Chex was $2.88 per box, rather than the 3-for-$10 brand name. 

 

Anyhoo... I didn't have a whole cart full. So I didn't feel guilty about holding up the line. Also, the Old Man behind me with just a couple items had stopped in the aisle by the deli counter to talk to a woman who just wheeled her cart in, and I had to squeeze between them. So it's his own fault he didn't beat me to the only open register. You schmooze, you lose, buddy!

 

One cart was ahead of me. It was a guy buying a gallon of milk, and three umbrellas. Kind of unusual, but he had two little girls with him, maybe 3-4 years old, each wielding an umbrella. CLOSED! They must have seen them in the store. One little gal was standing in front of the cart. The other behind, crowding in on the end of the short checkout, where the cashier gets behind the counter. The man pried the umbrella from her hands for scanning, then gave it back. After the milk was scanned, he said,

 

"Wait a minute!" He grabbed an umbrella from the calmer of the two girls, and held it over the conveyor. "Scan this again, and I'll go back and get one for their little sister. She's two. She's in the car."

 

I'm hoping with her mom! Not alone! Anyhoo, while this was going on, another clerk came to the next checkout.

 

"Ma'am? I can help you over here."

 

"No, that's okay. He can go ahead."

 

I motioned to the Old Man behind me, leaning on his cart/walker like I was. The cashier nodded, but he didn't move.

 

"You can go ahead. I'm fine here."

 

"Sir? I can help you."

 

He seemed a little out of it, or daydreaming. Maybe hard of hearing, though he was chatty enough with that other woman. Finally, he raised his head at me, and and said, 

 

"Well, I'm not sure I want her to check me out."

 

I'm pretty sure he was joking, just to cover for his inattentiveness. He turned his cart and wheeled over there. It kind of took the shine off my good deed, but I DID give him the opportunity to go ahead of me over there.

YOU'RE NEXT

When I entered the School-Turn Casey's on Monday, there was an old man standing at the counter, beside a guy who was being run up. They have a weird line there. They run it from the opposite side of the register nearest the door, because some genius put up a display wall where people would line up to be waited on. So you go in the door, and have to make a left and walk up the coffee aisle halfway across the store, to get to where the line is. 

There are two registers. Nobody was working at the left register. The old man was standing sideways, with a small soda on the edge of the counter, facing the guy paying at the working register. A clerk I've only seen a couple times was ringing him up. I stood back a respectful distance, maybe 8 feet, behind the paying man. It was obvious that Old Man had simply walked up from the door side, not taking the detour around to the line area. What's the point, when only one person was ahead of him, and already in the middle of a transaction?

I'll be darned if that clerk didn't turn to Old Man, and say loudly:

"YOU'RE NEXT."

What in the Not-Heaven???

We had all been in our configuration for over two minutes. It was obvious who was next. It's not like I was creeping up with my belly almost touching that paying fellow's rumpus. The Old Man knew he was there ahead of me. I knew he was there ahead of me. He was already closer to the register than I was. 

Maybe I'm just generally a paranoid old biddy, but I take offense to that clerk bellowing "YOU'RE NEXT." Why didn't she just glare right at me, and say, "STOP TRYING TO CUT!" Sweet Gummi Mary! I don't know where she expected me to go. Did she want me to mess up the whole line system and stand at the wrong end, behind the Old Man? If I had waited any farther behind Paying Guy, somebody would have come up and got ahead of me, thinking I was not in line.

Some people are SO unnecessary...

Attacked By The World's Tiniest Vampire

My most recent leg hole is finally closing up. It has been three weeks since the bloodthirsty door corner of T-Hoe gouged out some flesh while I was getting out to put air in the left rear tire. There's some thanks for ya!

 

The most recent course of treatment has been to cover the hole with a triple-antibiotic-ed bandaid, and then wrap it with a velcro elastic wrap that The Pony had holding the temporary brace on his broken ankle for two weeks. The combination of the ointment/bandaid and pressure seem to have done the trick. Let's not forget that the original Grand-Canyon-sized gouge took six weeks to heal! This one is three weeks in.

 

This wound, too, is in an unfortunate location, high up on the left calf, just under my knee bend. I can't get a good view of it, and have to feel like Helen Keller to discern where the hole is when trying to line up a fresh bandaid. For the past week, I've been leaving the bandaid on after the shower, and then letting Farmer H apply a knew one after supper. He also takes a picture with his phone, so I can compare how much it heals. 

For a while, the moisture kept seeping out, and Farmer H would have to dab at the area with a paper towel before putting on the new bandaid so it would stick. That has not been a problem for the past five or six days. This bandaid is the Country Mart store brand. It still causes a little itch, but nothing like that flesh-eating brand name that Farmer H brought home.

Anyhoo... on Tuesday night, the area was not so itchy, but the bandaid was hard to remove. It hadn't loosened during the shower that afternoon. Farmer H took the picture, then spent a while putting on that new bandaid.

 

"Why are you touching it? What are you doing? You got a wrinkle in it again, didn't you? That's what you're trying to fix!"

"Yeah. I got a little wrinkle..."

I sat down and got my wrap ready. Reached back to see if I could smooth out the wrinkle first. I didn't feel it. As I pulled my hand away to grab the wrap, I saw BLOOD! Blood smeared on the fingers I had been using to smooth my bandaid!

"What's THIS? Why didn't you tell me it was bleeding?"

"You scratched it!"

"No... let me see the picture! That's where you keep putting the bandaid. The skin peeled off. That's why I told you to change the angle a little every night."

 

There it was, plain as day. On the left side, where the bandaid had been peeled off, were two drops of blood. Evenly spaced. As if a miniature vampire had sunk his fangs in. Two drippy drops of blood.

"You wiped that off, didn't you? Before putting on the bandaid?"

"Yes, HM. I wiped it off."

"With WHAT? I didn't give you a paper towel. It hasn't been moist. The bandaid has been sticking."

"With my hand."

"EWW! Who does that? Wipes blood with a bare hand? That's just wrong! And now you put the bandaid over it, and it's obviously leaked through. So now my wrap will get blood on it. I guess I'll try to hold a tissue on there with the wrap..."

Seriously. The treatment is worse than the affliction with Caregiver H.

Denied My Rightful Lottery

When I saw the Country Mart checker at the only working lottery machine, I was prepared to wait. How long could it take? She was probably getting ready to go on shift, or had just clocked out. So I stood back at a reasonable distance, waiting my turn. She glanced back and talked to me a bit. 

 

"Oh, no! You're buying my winner, heh, heh! I love those little crosswords!"

 

"Yes. They ARE fun to play."

 

A co-worker went past, and asked her how much she was spending.

"FORTY-FIVE???"

"I can't help it. They were winners."

That's when I noticed that the balance on the machine was $27. And that she kept buying my $3 crosswords. Not a selection as I had assumed. She was hitting the button to get them one at a time. You can get up to three of them at once, but she must know more about that machine's idiosyncrasies than I do. So was doing that to keep it from jamming.

SWEET GUMMI MARY! If she was going to buy $27 more of $3 tickets, that was going to take a while! As I mentioned before, I was trying to get to The Pony's house, and was already behind schedule. 

Just then, the machine ran out of $3 crossword tickets! No way was I going to wait for that roving manager lady to put in more tickets.

"Good luck! I'll get mine somewhere else today."

Which I did. Bought two each at the Gas Station Chicken Store, Backroads Casey's, and Orb K. Had three winners, for $16, $10, and $10. I hope that old lady checker also had some winners.

Only When I'm On A Schedule

Mrs. HM is rarely in a hurry. She, after all, has no set schedule. She's as free as a bird, flitting here and there on a whim. But sometimes, she makes a promise to The Pony. His days off are precious. Sure, he usually just stays home playing computer games. But I hate to take up his valuable relaxation time.

On Sunday, I told The Pony I could drop off some Chex Mix around 2:30. He said that was fine, and to text him when I left the Mansion. Of course nothing goes as planned when I have a timetable.

Farmer H came home as I was walking to the shower, and I had to chat with him. It put me 10 minutes late leaving the Mansion. I told The Pony that in my text at the end of the driveway, and that I was also making stops to get scratchers. That's what he wanted as payment for some items he picked up for us in the Devil's Playground.

At my first stop, Country Mart, I was headed to my favorite parking space when a car rounded the corner from the pharmacy/Hardee's road. It had the right-of-way, so I put on the brakes. And watched that car park in my rightful spot! I put T-Hoe in a lesser spot, and dashed in to get scratchers.

The lottery machine on the left was OUT OF ORDER! It was completely dark. So I turned to use the machine on the right, and one of the workers was buying tickets. The $3 scratchers I love so well! I was waiting, but then something else occurred, which will be a story of its own. So I left without scratchers, ten minutes wasted.

At my next stop, the Gas Station Chicken Store, the Man Owner was working the register. Bless his heart. He's such a nice guy, but I think he gets flustered. When he rang up my scratchers, he was $2 off. Meaning I owed him two more dollars than what he was charging me. I told him that couldn't be right. He went through my tickets again. Same result. And a third time. Same thing.

"I don't want to cheat you out of two dollars! Here. Let's look at this."

He got it after my explanation. And thanked me. Another extra ten minutes down the drain. I headed over to Casey's. Can't get all the tickets at one place! 

The Old Lady Clerk was at her regular resister by the door. I stepped up, and she just looked at me. A young guy was working at the register on the left.

"Oh. Should I go to that one?"

"Do you have a card?"

"What? A card? What do you mean, a card?"

"If you're paying with a card, you can't do it here. It's cash only."

Then I saw a handwritten note taped to the card reader.

"Oh. Cash. I always use cash for my lottery. Here. I'm cashing in these tickets, and then paying cash for the rest."

The Young Guy clerk said he'd go ahead and get my tickets while Old Lady Clerk scanned my winners. So it all worked out. Just an odd hindrance that never happens.

I sent The Pony another text saying where I was, with my new ETA. I was about 30 minutes behind schedule.

Mrs. HM plans. The Universe laughs. Maniacally.

That's The WHIRRR Of Mrs. HM's Grounded Helicopter

Sunday afternoon, I took some Chex Mix to The Pony. I cautioned him to be careful on his route Monday, since the weather called for freezing fog in the morning.

 

"Make sure you watch your step on your back porch. It's concrete and might be slick."

 

"I know, Mom."

 

"And get ready early enough to scrape your car windshield. Oh, wait! You don't have a scraper. I bet you forgot that when you were just in the Devil's Playground buying food."

 

"Yeah. I forgot..."

 

"Do I have one in here?" 

 

The Pony turned around from T-Hoe's passenger seat, where we were having a chat, and started searching. 

 

"DUH! It's right here! By your feet! Take mine! I park in the garage. You'll need it more. If it's that bad, I won't go to town. I mainly use it to scrape the running board so I don't slip, since the road snow blows up and freezes on it."

 

"I hate to take yours."

 

"You are working, and park outside. You'll need it more. I can look for another one. Like I found this one, after you broke my best one that I had for years."

 

"Okay. If you're sure. I'll put it in my car right now as I go in."

 

I can't let my little Pony drive with ice on his car windows! No sacrifice is too great. I'll find another scraper. After all, I found another broom and dustpan after he broke mine chopping ice off the Mansion porch when I was coming home from the hospital.

The Pony Gets His Graze On

The Pony's friends must also have been concerned about his lack of roughage. He is in daily communication with some college buddies online. When they recommended VEGETABLES during his shopping spree, The Pony must have realized he needed some greens.

Saturday night, he sent me a picture of his meal.

"Got off around 6:15. Got home, threw garlic bread into the oven. Showered then made a salad. From a mix of course. Haven't opened the wine just yet."

 

Yes, that's a lot of bread. But the plates are not the full-size paper plates. They are between a regular plate and a dessert plate in size. I know, because I have that same pattern in my fine china collection, heh, heh!

 

"Your salad looks good. What's the white part?"

"I think it's all cabbage of different kinds. The lighting was weird. It came with a Chipotle dressing packet. It's a bit too sweet, but gets more savory tasting when I have wine."

"It looks good and filling."

"Yeah. And I like the texture of cabbage. I've eaten half of that garlic bread loaf already. It's really gonna be soaking up that wine."

Heh, heh. The Pony must feel like he's eating health food now.

This Is, Perhaps, The Devil's Version Of A Handbasket

The Pony sent me a text Friday evening, to see if I wanted anything from The Devil's Playground. I haven't crossed that threshold since The Devil closed one set of doors, and forced everyone through a cattle gate to enter. Now The Pony says they've rearranged the registers, and added more self-check-outs. I can do without a longer wait. I have The Pony to get items I absolutely can't find at Country Mart. Like Farmer H's Wild Turkey 101, and Pepcid.

It's been about six weeks since The Pony visited The Devil's Playground. He's been busy with work, and getting food at the Country Mart near the post office. He must have been excited by the variety.

"Got some frozen veggies meal things at the urging of friends. One of them is a frozen thing of a few veggies and chicken supposedly with a garlic parmesan sauce. The other I think is a vegetarian thing. It looked good at least. I also got a southwest salad mix. I have so much food now. I'm paralyzed for choice over what I want to actually eat! I might just do a salad and garlic bread tonight because I spent way longer shopping than I thought and I'm beat."

He also sent a picture:

 

"They changed the carts!!! They're tall!"

Looks to me like the child seat is bigger. I suggested that maybe kids are getting fatter. I did NOT tell The Pony that maybe helicopter parents are setting their 24-year-old kids in them...

I Can't Help But Think This Was Intended

Farmer H has a rewards account with Casey's. He earns points that can be redeemed for merchandise, or gas, and gets offers that people without a rewards account don't get. This has been going on for a couple years now. When I get gas every week, I put in Farmer H's account so he can get the rewards. Too bad lottery doesn't count! I've even had clerks ask me if I have rewards, and I have to tell them, "Yes. But lottery doesn't qualify." At least I used to tell them that. These days, the clerks don't ask if I have rewards!

A couple months ago, Casey's updated their card scanner thingy. It used to pop up the REWARDS option as the clerk was ringing up the order. So you could do it any time. But now, that REWARDS button does not show up unless you ask the clerk! They have to put in something so you get the option to enter your info. The trick is to ask at a time when you don't distract the clerk from what they are doing, and before the transaction is complete.

I've missed getting Farmer H's rewards for the past two weeks. On Thursday, I was at the Sis-Town Casey's as usual, to get T-Hoe's gas. It was not busy. In fact, nobody was in line when I entered and stepped up to the register where two women were loitering behind the counter. One was on her phone. The other standing back watching her.

"Hello. I'd like $24 in gas on Pump 4."

The non-phone clerk looked a bit annoyed, but stepped up and put it into the register. Then I asked for my scratchers. I waited for them to be scanned. Then when she told me the total, I handed it over, and asked if I could enter my rewards.

 

"You can't get rewards for lottery." She continued ringing up the transaction and handed me my change.

 

"I know that, but I had $24 of gas. Gas is good for rewards."

 

"Oh. Well. Uh..."

 

"So it's too late now? I guess I'll do without the rewards, then." 

"Do you have the ap?"

"No, but my husband does."

"Well, I can give you the receipt, and then he can enter the points for the ap."

"Okay. Thank you."

I was none too happy about her lackadaisical attitude towards waiting on me, and then her haste to finish the transaction without giving me my rewards opportunity.

When I got home, I told Farmer H.

"Yeah. They do that now. They never ask if you have rewards. YOU have to ask THEM."

"I got the receipt so you can enter your points with the ap."

"I don't know how to do that."

"Oh. I guess I didn't need the receipt, then. I think they updated their scanners for the purpose of cutting down on rewards!"

"Yeah. It wouldn't surprise me. It's really hard to get them now."

That's a shame.  We really enjoyed the free pizza every now and then, plus Farmer H getting special discounts on snacks and water. I think he mainly uses his points for gas now. When he can get them!

Better Than Being Stabbed In The Stomach With A Pencil

Sometimes, there are people in life with whom you do not mesh. They are perfectly nice people, but you are not simpatico with them. Not only would you not nod a greeting to them as you passed, but you might run into them and knock heads. Get your chocolate in their peanut butter. Or round a corner, collide with them, and stab yourself in stomach with your own #2 Ticonderoga. [That really happened to me!]

I encountered such a person at the Country Mart checkout on Wednesday.

Don't get me wrong. She was polite and personable. Doing her job. But something about her rubbed me the wrong way. It started with a critique of my butter selection.

"KerryGold?"

"Yes. My son loves it. He swore how good it was. Once I tried it, I agreed."

"Huh. It's really pricey."

"I'm getting it for our Christmas dinner."

Here's the thing. Since when is it the cashier's business what product you buy, and how much you spend! I didn't owe her an explanation. I don't set the prices! Maybe I should have told her, "You're right. I don't want it. That's outrageous! Put it back on the shelf." Small talk is fine, as long as you're not passing judgment on a customer's selections.

Also, as I was preoccupied with putting my PIN into the card scanner, she said, "I'll put all this in one bag."

Do I look like the kind of gal who wants everything crammed into one bag, so it's heavy and awkward and spilling out? I don't think so! I didn't realize until I got home and retrieved that bag from T-Hoe's rear that she had piled everything on top of my BANANAS! Surely everyone else in the world knows that once a banana has pressure on it, a bruise starts to form!

Here's what my poor bananas had piled on top of them: 2 blocks of KerryGold butter, 1 bag of pecan halves (10 oz), 1 box of Hidden Valley Ranch seasoning packets, 1 bottle of Peppercorn Ranch Dressing, 1 bottle of Chunky Blue Cheese Dressing, 1 box of Glad Cling Wrap, 2 boxes of bandaids.

I'm pretty sure bananas were not meant to support that much.

Clang, Clang, Clang Goes My Folly. Ding, Ding, Ding I'm In Not-Heaven.

I should know better. I've brought this upon myself. It was pure folly to allow Farmer H to eat from actual dishes, with actual silverware. He's happy enough using styrofoam bowls. But no. I don't think he should have to worry about stabbing a hole in the side of his bowl while in his feeding frenzy.

 

I made turkey pot pie on Sunday. It's DELICIOUS! We've been eating it for three nights. First night dipped out of the glass pan after baking, and the next two after I warmed the pie part in a bowl in the microwave, and tried to heat the crust on a pizza pan in the oven. Oh, it turned out great. But there's the matter of the glass bowl for Farmer H.

 

He takes his food to the living room, to his recliner in front of the TV. I have mine at the kitchen table in the company of HIPPIE, my laptop. Even though I usually have a video going, I can hear Farmer H in the living room.

 

CLANG, CLANG, CLANG!

 

Why does he need to clang that fork against the bowl??? It sounds like he could break it! You don't stab turkey pot pie with the fork tines. You poke the fork down through the top of the slice, and then scoop it out. It sounds like Farmer H is attempting (badly) a breakout from Alcatraz!

 

CLANG, CLANG, CLANG!

 

I have hollered in to ask if there's a reason he's doing that.

 

"HM. I'm just eating."

 

Seriously? I don't know what form of eating requires you to chop at a bowl with your fork. It's not like the carrots or peas or potatoes or turkey are going to get away. You can't scoop the tasty coating off the bottom of a glass bowl with a metal fork. A spoon might garner you a tasty bit. But not a fork.

 

My entire 28 years of fingernails on a chalkboard were not as off-putting as this.

Will It Still Be Looking At Me Sideways?

Farmer H went to his shoulder doctor on Monday, a re-visit to check on the thing he had cut off his skin. You may recall that the incision was left open, and I pulled about 3 feet of gauze out of the opening! The opening that was shaped like a sideways eye.

Anyhoo... I'd been changing the bandage then bandaid every couple of days for Farmer H. That opening didn't close. I guess it wasn't supposed to, since the doctor had mentioned letting it settle down from being inflamed, before taking out the sac or something.

Farmer H's appointment was for 11:00. It's a 20-minute drive from Sis-Town, where Pony House is located, and the Senior Center where Farmer H likes to have lunch. Farmer H didn't mention his doctor news, so I had to ask.

"What did the doctor say?"

"He says it's fine. That the bandage may bleed a little today or tomorrow. To leave it on. And then I can change it the next day."

"Did he take out the rest of it?"

"I don't know."

"You didn't ASK what he was doing?"

"No. I guess he did. He said, 'You might feel some pulling now.' It wasn't bad."

Sweet Gummi Mary! You'd think he would at least find out what was happening at that appointment! I guess he couldn't be bothered. He still made it to lunch at the Senior Center. They stop serving at noon.

The Test That Served No Purpose

You may recall that Farmer H was told to stop taking his potassium pills by the rumpus-implant doctor who pulled out a lingering half-stitch, and prescribed an antibiotic, although stating that Farmer H did not have an infection. This was on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Farmer H was also instructed to get a blood test to check his potassium levels because the antibiotic could make it too high.

 

Of course Farmer H's doctor office/lab was closed that Friday. So he couldn't get his blood test until Monday. The day before his prescribed course of antibiotics ended.

 

This is Sunday, December 4, as I type this. Farmer H has heard nothing from anybody about his potassium levels from the blood test. Oh, and he started taking his potassium pills again on Wednesday, because the rumpus doctor told him to take them again when the antibiotic was over.

 

Somebody(ies) dropped the ball. Good thing Farmer H didn't keel over from excess potassium levels.

Mrs. HM Can Lead A Farmer To Larder, But She Cannot Make Him Sync

When Farmer H came home with info on his upcoming back surgery to fix bulging discs, I asked if they would have him lying on his stomach afterward.

 

"I cain't lay on my stomach! Anyway, when my buddy had his back surgery, they had him laying on his back. So I guess I'll be on my back."

 

"Did the doctor say anything about losing weight before the operation?"

 

"He said he usually likes people to be a certain BMI. Like 40, I think he said. But I'm at 38."

 

"That doesn't sound right. I'd think he would want them LESS than 40 for sure. He doesn't want you to get up to 40!"

 

"I don't know. That's what I thought he said. He also said there wouldn't be time for me to lose before surgery."

 

I kind of disagree on that. The surgery is a month away, minimum. Surely every little bit can help. I'm not shaming Farmer H. Just trying to make his surgery experience better if possible.

 

"I can get some of the chicken breasts and bake them. We can have that very night, with a salad or vegetable for the side."

 

"Yeah. I could eat that. I've already lost four pounds in the last couple weeks."

 

That's a mysterious development! Especially since Farmer H has been having a bowl of ice cream every night. As much as 4 or 5 of his individual ice cream cups I used to buy him.

 

"There's a can of pears in the fridge. I'll stop buying ice cream."

 

"Okay. I guess I oughta finish it off tonight."

 

Anyhoo... I bought two bags of the boneless chicken breasts on sale. REALLY on sale! At Country Mart, $5.98 for a 2.5 pound bag. That was over $7 off per bag! I still plan to make our turkey pot pie, but then we'll be having chicken. Farmer H likes it baked with lemon pepper seasoning.

Here's the thing. No matter how healthy the food is that I stock for Farmer H, I can't control what he eats while he's out of my sight. He's an adult, you know. He should be able to make rational decisions. Yet he does not. His ideas of healthy are not the same as my ideas of healthy.

Saturday, he was going to the auction. No time to cook a regular meal. I had some Country Mart fried chicken left from Friday, when Farmer H was out late watching a play featuring The Veteran's daughters. So I said he could have the two legs and a wing before he went to the auction. So he didn't have to buy a hamburger there like he does sometimes. Not that fried chicken is healthy, but it was protein at least. Something quick.

I had planned on making him some rice and broccoli as a side dish. I saw him on our gravel road as I was headed to town around 3:00. When I got home at 3:45, I smelled chicken.

"Don't tell me you already ate the chicken!"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Didn't you have lunch?"

"Yeah. I had a hamburger around 11:30."

"And you needed to eat the chicken NOW? You usually have supper around 5:30 when you go to the auction."

"Oh, I'm still going to have a hamburger when I get there."

"So you're eating four meals a day now?"

"I don't know where you get that! I don't eat four meals!"

"Let's see. You had Casey's donuts for breakfast. Then a hamburger. Then two legs and a wing. And now you'll be having another hamburger."

"That ain't four meals!"

 

There's no reasoning with Farmer H. He will eat what he eats. I have nothing to do with influencing him. At least he will have to work harder for his junk food, rather than getting it here at the Mansion.

A Curious Wait

Earlier this week, I popped into Country Mart to buy my $3 crossword scratchers. They're my favorite ticket. I had two winners to cash in at the machine. It reads the bar code, and gives you credit. No money back, though.

I had to stand by the cart corral, because there was a woman buying tickets at the left machine, and a man at the right machine. My favorite young guy checker chatted with me for a moment, until he got a customer. Then the deli guy went by and spoke. I guess this tipped off the lady that someone was behind her.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Are you waiting to buy tickets?"

"I'm getting two $3 tickets out of one machine, and one $3 ticket out of the other."

"Joe! Joe! Aren't you done yet? What's taking you so long? I'm really sorry. We found a bunch of tickets, and we figured we could cash them in ourselves and not make people wait."

"No problem. I'm never in a hurry. You were here first."

"Joe!"

"I'm trying!" He had a handful of draw tickets. A handful. Like maybe 40 tickets.

"Maybe he'll get done and you can use that one."

I guess Joe had fed a lot of those tickets in, and had credit on the machine. Because he was pushing the buttons and getting scratchers out. The lady chatted over her shoulder as she picked tickets.

"We found them all over. In my purse, on the counter, in the couch..."

"I send my son two tickets every week. This week he won $50 on that ticket you just bought. I don't remember if I got it here or not."

"Joe!"

Joe must have reached a stopping point, because he mosied over to stand by the lady. He held out a handful of draw tickets. "These are no good."

While they discussed what they were going to do, I went to the right machine and bought two $3 crossword tickets. I didn't bother waiting to get one out of the other machine. I just saved my $3 winner. One of the tickets I bought won $20. So there's that.

I wonder why those two decided to cash in their tickets all at once. It's not like they needed money and could get cash from a machine. The service desk would have given them cash for the tickets. Maybe they just had a hunch. Maybe they won big.

I don't begrudge them their time at the machine. They beat me to it. Fair is fair.

Not Exactly Boosting My Deli Confidence

Early in the week, I was waiting in line at the lottery machine in Country Mart when one of the deli cooks walked by. He's the guy who gives me special deals when the counter is running out of something. The guy who has carried my stuff across the store when it's ready, rather than having me walk back to get it. A super nice guy, one who fries the chicken. He was on his way out to gather carts. They all help out when that's needed, whether they work at the service desk or cashier or deli. He's a friendly guy, and always speaks to me.

"Hey! How was your Thanksgiving?"

"It was good! The turkey breast I got here turned out just right. Did YOU have to cook?"

"Me? No! Nobody wants THAT!"

"Oh. Well. I guess it's good that you got out of it."

"My dad does the cooking. He's really good."

Such an odd encounter. The COOK from the deli, telling me that nobody wants him to cook!

Another Conversation With The Most Confusing Man In The World

I mentioned that Farmer H has been taking an antibiotic for half a stitch that was left in an incision from a recent medical procedure. Being on this antibiotic, he has not been having a hot toddy (his cold is gone now), nor an evening nightcap of Wild Turkey and Shasta Diet Cola.

Farmer H originally told me that he had a prescription for seven days of the antibiotic. I thought this odd, as usually it is a ten-day regimen. With Farmer H not being the most reliable source of information, even when his own health is concerned, I asked him on Monday night if he was still taking the antibiotic.

"Yeah. I have one pill left."

Since he got the prescription last Wednesday, I took him at his word. That would be seven days. Wednesday thru Tuesday.

Wednesday evening, I asked if he wanted me to make him a drink, but Farmer H reminded me that he was still taking the antibiotic.

"I thought you had seven days. This makes eight."

"No. This is WEDNESDAY! Not Thursday." He acted as if I was a simpleton.

"That is eight days. Not seven. Count on your fingers."

"Wednedsay/Thursday/Friday/Saturday/Sunday/Monday/Tuesday/Wednesday. Seven days!"

"Nooo... that's EIGHT days!"

That went on for a while. Then Farmer H announced:

"I started taking them pills on Wednesday night. I counted wrong on Monday. I really had three left."

"So you must have had ten days worth."

"No. Seven. HM. I take two of them a day."

"Oh. You didn't say that. But still, from Wednesday to Wednesday is eight days."

"No. It's seven days."

SWEET GUMMI MARY! That man cannot use common sense. And apparently can't count.

"So you still have one pill left to take on Thursday?"

"No. I have two."

"That doesn't make sense!"

"Yeah. I should have taken the last one this morning. So I guess they gave me too many pills."

I don't even know how to figure this out! I'm pretty sure it's more likely that Farmer H forgot to take his pills than the pharmacy gave him TOO MANY pills.

Here We Go Again. Two Lies And The Truth.

Farmer H has been picking up the mail. He brings it in and puts it on the kitchen counter for me to peruse. Meaning for me to throw away the holiday junk mail, and pick out the bills to pay them.

 

Tuesday, Farmer H was over at the BARn when I came home from town. Well, near the BARn, at the Freight Container Garage. I don't know what he was doing there, since he's under doctor's orders not to lift more than 10 pounds. Anyhoo... my loving fleabags were over there, and missed their treat. 

When Farmer H came to the house, he fed Juno her special canned dog food and some dry dog food. She gets it twice a day, and is looking much better. I could hardly feel her ribs through her fur coat. Anyhoo... when Farmer H came in, I told him to give the dogs their treat. So he went back out. Then when he came in again, I asked if he had picked up his medicine, because the pharmacy kept calling. He had, but left it in SilverRedO. So he went back out again to get it.

"I didn't notice any mail in the counter. Did you get the mail?"

"There wasn't none."

"We didn't get ANYTHING?"

"Nope."

"I guess I can check when I go to town tomorrow. Maybe it's really late."

"Alls we got was a gift certificate for me from the lumber yard."

"So we DID get mail?"

"Only the gift certificate for the next time I buy stuff."

"That's different from not getting anything! Now I know not to get out and walk across the road to check."

"Whatever."

What in the Not-Heaven is wrong with Farmer H??? Why can't he just say, "We only got a gift certificate from the lumber yard."

Baiters And Switchers Have A Heyday With Mrs. HM

I'm not doing any Christmas shopping this year. Farmer H says he doesn't need anything, and the boys are grown. I'll still give my Chex Mix, and some scratchers to Farmer H and the boys. But I don't really have a need to hit Black Friday sales, or take advantage of Cyber Monday. Except...

Farmer H has worn out his shoes. His feet had been hurting him during the summer, and I got a catalog from ordering work shoes for The Pony. He thumbed through it and found some shoes he'd like to try. Skechers. I made another order for The Pony, so he could have a spare pair to switch off if his shoes got waterlogged on a rainy day. There was a sale back then, 40% off.

Of course Farmer H's shoes were not on sale! So I still paid full price, because he wanted them. He loved those shoes! But they've started to wear out. So he asked if I could get him another pair. I said I'd get two, because usually you find something you really like, and then they change the style or "improve" it, and it's not the same.

Anyhoo... I kept getting emails from this company about their Cyber Monday sale with 30% off sitewide. I checked my old emails and found the order for Farmer H's shoes, and got the style number and size. I went into the site to order, looking forward to my 30% off of two pairs. You know what happened, right?

I used the discount code, and a message popped up in red that the manufacturer didn't allow this product to be discounted. Huh. I wonder how many brands on that site come up with the same message? I didn't waste my time trying. I just ordered Farmer H's shoes at full price. Oh, and they've gone up $10 a pair since summer!

This is an annoying tactic to drag people in hoping for a discount. It could at least say "30% off on selected merchandise." And not appear as if everything is 30% off.

At What Point Do The Lies Become Truths

Farmer H is a habitual liar. He thinks he can get away with it, even though I constantly prove he cannot. Doesn't stop him from trying. A while back I mentioned how Farmer H moved my washcloth from the towel rack where I had place it on my towel, to the side of the big triangle tub in the master bathroom where it just so happened he was going to have a soak. I didn't buy his excuse THEN. And I'm pretty suspicious of his most recent washcloth manipulation.

Farmer H has a tell. Rather than just answering a question directly, he will repeat the question while trying to buy time to fabricate an answer. Then he proposes alternate scenarios until flat-out caught in an untruth. He's less transparent than a toddler with crumbs on his face denying a forbidden dip into the cookie jar.

Saturday afternoon, I draped my used washcloth on the side of the big triangle tub in the master bathroom, on the area where there's a built-in plastic rod for such items. There are two. One near the corner by the toilet where the faucet handles are, and the other along that side of the tub towards the sink. Mine was on the sink end. That allows it to dry, and then I put it in with the dirty clothes to wait for washing.

Sunday afternoon, I went to move my dried washcloth, and saw that it was not in the same position as I had left it. I drape it a certain way, with the border oriented along the side so it's not in contact with the edge of the tub, since this part takes longer to dry. Now the border was hanging down against the inner tub side. Hmm. What a curious discovery. I know that washcloth didn't move itself. AND Farmer H had taken a soak in the tub Saturday night, forgoing the auction. Of course I had to open an interrogation.

"What happened to my washcloth?"

"Your washcloth? Nothing happened to it."

"The blue washcloth I had draped on the side of the tub."

"It's still there. Nothing happened to it."

"Funny how it's not hanging how I left it."

"Oh. I knocked it into the tub. But I wrung it out and put it back."

"Really... is that the truth, or is it a lie like your first two answers? How in the world did you knock it into the tub when it was hanging there on the rod?"

 

"Getting in. I knocked it into the water while I was getting in."

 

"I don't know how you did THAT. How do I know you didn't use it to wash with?"

 

"I didn't. I don't know why you're always accusing me!"

 

Oh, I don't know... could it be... perhaps... that you are always LYING about what happened?

 

Seriously. What if I had plans to re-use that washcloth for a second day? Do I want to use something that's been in Farmer H's buttwater soup, even if he DIDN'T use it to wash with? NO! I do not. Once it is contaminated by Farmer H's bathwater, it must be washed. Who knows what he REALLY did with it!

 

A sane person would have answered immediately, upon being asked what happened to my washcloth: "Oh, I knocked it into the bathwater as I was getting in the tub. I wrung it out and hung it back on the side." See how simple that is? But a liar has to stall for time, and only propose that story when he's been caught.