Farmer H Always Finds A Way

Friday is Farmer H's day out. Heh, heh! ALL days are Farmer H's day out, but particularly Fridays, when he goes to his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2), then to lunch, then gets a shot at the doctor's office, then sits around with his cronies shooting the bull at an electrical supply business. He says he'll be home between 4:30 and 5:00.

Mrs. HM is no fool. She plans her town trip with shopping so that she gets home between 4:30 and 5:00. Yet Farmer H always shows up mysteriously RIGHT AFTER she carries in all the groceries and puts them away! 

Yesterday I pulled into the garage at exactly 5:00. SilverRedO was NOT parked under the carport. I carried eight bags and a 12-pack of soda to the side porch. Three bags were really heavy, the rest medium-heavy. I couldn't loop a bunch on my arm like I can if they're light. It took me three trips from T-Hoe's rear, and another to get my purse and water bottle and the bag with our deli dinners.

Once up on the porch, I started moving the bags into the house. On my last trip to get bags off the side porch, the dogs went crazy. SilverRedO was coming down the driveway. I waited.

"You can carry in these two heavy bags. I've got everything else in. But you're going to help this time!"

You know. Because if I didn't say it, Farmer H could have waltzed right by and claimed that he didn't know I needed help.

He carried in those two bags. Set them on the cutting block. THEN WENT OUT THE DOOR, saying, "I've got to carry in the dog food that my buddy gave me."

Seriously? Like that was a pressing matter? Like it would hurt dog food to remain in the truck for a few more minutes?

I started putting away the groceries. When Farmer H came back, he walked past me to the bathroom, saying he had to take his medicine. Medicine so important that when we were in Oklahoma, he didn't bother to take it until after supper, around 8:30, when he went up to our hotel room.

"I can't believe you're actually HERE, but still not helping me put things away!"

Farmer H went to the counter and picked up two bags and put them on the cutting block. Then he grabbed a can of dog food and went out through the laundry room, calling for Juno. Juno. The dog we left for three days, going with only dry dog food from Tuesday morning until Wednesday night when The Pony drove out to feed her. So five minutes waiting for food would not be a hardship for her. Once back inside, I had a few more words for him.

"You're STILL not helping me? My back hurts from bending over picking up those bags. Oww!" said I, as I grabbed the cutting block to maneuver myself from FRIG II to more groceries.

"I put two bags over there for you!"

"They have stuff that goes on the kitchen table. So now I have to carry it back!"

"You can quit your moaning. My back hurts too, but you don't hear me carrying on like that."

"How about THIS? You go to the store and walk around picking out groceries. Load them in the car. Unload them at home, carry them in, put them away, and get my supper ready. I will go hang out in town, then come home and wait for my supper to be served. For that, I will be quiet, and YOU can moan. Do you want to try that?"

"I don't know what you're yelling at ME for."

"You were actually HERE, and instead of helping, you kept avoiding it."

"I had things to do."

"Yeah. Things to do until I was finally done putting everything away!"

"Don't be like that. I didn't do NOTHIN'!"

"Truer words were never spoken!"

Heh, heh.