Steamed Pony

The Pony is not happy that the work schedule was changed on Wednesday. Now he doesn't get a 3-day weekend over the 4th of July holiday. 

As if that wasn't enough, we are in the midst of an early heat wave. I got a text from The Pony on my way to town Thursday.

"Guess how hot it's getting inside the van between loops today. And this is one that *has* air conditioning. Mine tomorrow doesn't."

"It was 95 in the garage. I am driving to town now. It's 98 at the low water bridge."

"It's only about 100 outside. But in the van in the sun it gets to this:"

"118."

"Dang! Be careful. Hydrate. Even sips of Gatorade. I feel sick when I get out of T-Hoe."

"Yeah. Be safe, Mom."

Isn't that sweet? The Pony was sweating his rumpus off doing physical labor, yet he was worried about ME. Sometimes he really cares about people. Or at least about me.

Maybe It Should Have Remained Forgotten

I brought home the forgotten pizza on Tuesday. Perhaps there was a reason that I forgot it on Friday. The selection was not good. Many empty spaces in the freezer where the good pizzas belonged. The only kind of DiGiorno I could find was pepperoni. Nope. Not happenin'. I hate pepperoni.

The next best kind, Freschetta, seemed to exist in only the Canadian bacon and pineapple variety. We had one before. It was good, but I was not in the mood for a sweet pizza. On the bottom shelf, I saw a stack of Freschettas, several of which were SUPREME! It's more work for me to pick off the peppers from Farmer H's side, and the pepperoni from my side, but that could work, since I didn't see any of the meat pizzas.

While I was pawing through them, a lady pushed up her cart and stood there. Too bad, so sad! I was there first! No matter how hard I tried, I could not find a decent pizza box. All of them were caved in on top, kind of not-firm any more. Like all the pizzas had been thawed, and then frozen again while stacked. I just don't trust Country Mart!

Anyhoo... the Freschetta Supreme that I put in my cart had one corner of the box ripped off, and the end of the box halfway torn open.

"I was trying to find a good one, but this is it!" I told the Waiting Lady. She looked at me quizzically, though that should have been MY expression, because if she wasn't waiting to look at the pizzas, what in the NOT HEAVEN was she standing there watching me for???

Anyhoo... when I got to the checkout, the Old Lady looked askance at that pizza when ringing it up.

"Sadly, that's the best one back there! But I figure it's probably okay inside. They have that shrink wrap to hold everything in place. It's not like the toppings will fall off. I have to move them from one side to the other anyway, because my husband doesn't like the peppers."

"It's probably fine. I move the toppings like that, too. Haha! I sometimes give myself a little extra!"

Once I got that pizza out to bake it around 6:00, I saw that one edge of the crust was curled up. It must have been sitting on its edge when it was thawed. I added some canned mushrooms, and a chopped onion after adjusting the peppers and pepperoni.

Just as I assumed, that pizza was fine. It did its rising crust thing, which technically it shouldn't have if it had been completely thawed before baking. Farmer H and I are not averse to having another one. IF I can find one in as good of shape as that one!

The Close-Chewers, Having A Ball

Tuesday, I was standing at the right lottery machine in Country Mart, scanning some winners to buy a scratcher for The Pony with his accumulated small draw-ticket wins. I had finished shopping, and had a cart full of soda six-packs, a 12-roll multi-pack of toilet paper, the frozen pizza I forgot a few days ago, and assorted other grocery items. My cart/walker was parked to the left side of the right machine, blocking the kid-machines that dispense gumballs and stretchy wall-walkers and mini toys.

Wouldn't you know it, in the midst of my calculations and ticket-feeding, a man with a young girl and boy finished checking out. The Little Girl ran over and almost collided with a tall giant gumball machine on the right of the right lottery machine.

"Hey now! Watch where you're going!" The Dad was trying to be polite as the Little Girl jammed herself up under my armpit.

The Little Boy, a bit bigger, joined them. Both kids were clamoring for a giant gumball. I don't think they even noticed the other set of dispensers blocked by my cart. You can't get mad at little kids. They were just so excited about those gumballs. The Dad dug into his pocket. Little Girl was sure to tell him, "They're a QUARTER!" She looked around five years old.

I hurried as best I could. I don't like people crowding me. But I didn't get huffy. They were kids. The Dad was trying to give them a treat. 

As I moved to the left machine, I heard Little Girl say, "I want a purple one!"

"You can't pick which color you get, honey. You'll get what comes out."

Next thing I heard was, "OH NO! It's on the floor!"

"Well, you'll have to blow it off! Quick!"

Heh, heh. I don't blame him. Those gumballs have a hard outer shell. It could easily be wiped (or blown) off after bouncing on the tile floor. It's not like a wet Gummi Bear fell out of someone's mouth and into a cat's litter box!

Anyhoo... the kids seemed to be happy as they all went out the door. And quiet, too, chomping on those giant gumballs. That Dad was pretty smart...

Mrs HM Is Robbed At The DQ Drive-Thru

Robbed of my rightful place in line, that is! What is wrong with people???

I was coming down the side road from Country Mart. I saw that there was no line. Nobody at the ordering sign. As I cautiously came past the overgrown bushes by my pharmacy, where cars like to run the stop sign and pull out in front of me... I saw that a red side-by-side was now ordering. No big deal. I would be next in line.

I turned onto the Dairy Queen parking lot, and was coasting into line behind that side-by-side when a smaller black SUV darted in the exit of the parking lot. The exit that is across from my pharmacy, where cars from DQ can pull out onto the road where people run the stop sign.

Not sure where that black SUV was going, I slowed. The driver made a U-turn and pulled into the drive-thru line ahead of me!!!

That's not right! He could clearly see that I was pulling up behind that red side-by-side. Should have come in behind me, not cut me off and forced himself ahead!

I say HE, because only a handful of times in my life has it been women who pull stunts like this. I couldn't see him clearly in his side mirror, but his beefy hand was gesturing with a lit cigarette. I waited. And waited. After four minutes, he still had not completed his order. What in the NOT-HEAVEN? Also, inside that black SUV, I could see arms waving around like one of those air-filled advertising floppy guys. I figure there were five or six kids in there. 

Nope. Not today! I pulled out of line, and left through the exit he had come in. I was not in a mood to wait any longer for him to order. I can only imagine how long it would take to prepare that food and get it out the window. 

Yes. I cut off my nose to spite my face. I don't regret it.

The Pony Does Not Work For Bread Alone

The Pony seems to be happy with his job and earnings. He doesn't have a lot of expenses. He accrues time for sick leave, and vacation days. His hours are steady, now what he's a regular. And every so often, there's an unexpected perk that brightens his day. People GIVE him things!

Like a couple weeks ago:

"A house left me banana bread yesterday! It's delicious!"

I'm hoping The Pony took a bite while holding it inside the baggie. Or ate it after he got home. Because his hand doesn't look like something I would want to be eating out of.

This reminds me of my grandma's zucchini bread. It was SO tasty! She'd give me 6 or 8 regular size loaves, all wrapped up in plastic and foil. I'd keep them in the freezer until I was ready for the next one. I guess that's the thing with zucchinis. They grow like weeds! As for bananas, you can find them frequently in a cart at the front of Save A Lot, with a FREE sign on it. The really ripe ones, just right for making banana bread.

We Certainly Know Where The Pony Gets A Lack Of Motivation For Helping People

Heh, heh! Farmer H's lack of sticking to his own timetable came back to bite him in the rumpus on Friday evening! He usually gets home a little after 5:00 on Fridays. But he sent me a text before noon saying that he would be helping The Pony get back into Pony House after locking his key inside.

"I'm picking him up around 515 to haul him home and let him in"

Of course Farmer H knew that I was going to the store. I figured he wouldn't be home until 5:45, so I'd be carrying in the groceries by myself again. For that very reason, I left hamburger off my list. I don't trust Scarlett enough yet to set meat on a chair on the side porch until I climb the steps and unlock the door. Also, I forgot to pick up a frozen pizza that was going to be our supper. It was on the list, but I suppose I followed a list like Farmer H!

Anyhoo... I was T-Hoe-ing along around 5:00, and called Farmer H, thinking maybe if he really wanted pizza, he could stop and pick one up in the store or at Casey's or Domino's.

"Hey, I forgot the pizza. We can have something else if that's okay, or you can get one. I'm almost to the bridge, and I might lose reception."

"I'm right behind you. We can talk when I get home."

"What? Where are you?"

"Coming over the hill by the mailboxes."

"You're AHEAD OF ME! I'm talking about the other bridge."

Anyhoo... I saw Farmer H getting the mail as I turned onto our gravel road. So he was trapped, heh, heh! Had to help me carry groceries. 

"Do you need soda? Should we take some in?"

"No. I don't."

"I think I have one left."

Anyhoo... Farmer H had only two Diet Mountain Dews left in FRIG II. One for that night, and one for Saturday morning on the way to his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2). And I did NOT have one left, just the single bottle of Diet Coke (on sale 3 six-packs for $10) for that night. 

"Huh. I guess I'll have to carry in soda tomorrow. Like I do EVERY time you run out!"

Farmer H goes through a six-pack in about two days. I carry them in, and put them in FRIG II. He's welcome! Not that he ever says thanks.

Anyhoo... Farmer H muttered something about how he was going to take out the trash, and bring in the sodas that evening. But he didn't. Left Saturday morning, leaving FRIG II bereft of soda. I figured I would set it out of T-Hoe onto the side-porch chair as I left for town, and bring it in when I got back. I could put a couple in the freezer to chill them faster.

However... Farmer H came home around 2:15 on Saturday. I was getting up from my beauty sleep when he came in. Then I got in the shower. When I got out, I said, 

"I suppose I still need to bring in some soda."

"No. I brought them in when I got home."

Well! That was a fine how-do-you-do! Something Farmer H had done to help me out! As I was leaving, I looked in FRIG II to see if Farmer H had put in ONE soda, as I am wont to do, or the whole six-pack. The answer was NEITHER!!! I saw his six-pack of Diet Mountain Dew on the top shelf. And my six-pack of Diet Coke sitting on the floor of the kitchen!

"I can't believe you! Here I thought for the last hour that I had a soda cooling for when I get back. But they're sitting on the floor! I can't believe you!"

"Well, I didn't know if you'd want them cold."

"What in the NOT-HEAVEN? Who drinks Diet Coke hot? It's 97 degrees outside!"

"They'll cool off while you're gone to town."

Sure. Soda will go from 97 degrees to a nice chill suitable for drinking in an hour in FRIG II. I don't think so. I put one bottle in, and gave it 30 minutes in the freezer when I came home. Which made it suitable for drinking. No thanks to Farmer H.

The Pony Encounters A Couple More Critters On His Route

Every day is an adventure when The Pony is on the job. He keeps me updated on any encounters that are not routine. Like a couple Mondays ago:

I suppose The Pony needs watching-over more than I do these days...

Last Saturday, he saw a bigger critter:

I snorted when I saw how The Pony worded his text: "This house had kittens."

I think that's the same kitten. Maybe not. I like the shadow of the head in this picture.

At least The Pony was not bitten or scratched. And these were better than the snake!

The Dentist Looks A Gift Pony In The Mouth

The Pony used one of his sick days last week, to go to a dentist. He has never been very keen on such appointments. He chose a dentist over in Bill-Paying Town that is a provider for his insurance. Poor Pony! He was there for THREE HOURS! His appointment was at 10:30, and he didn't get out until 1:30.

Anyhoo... after texting me intermittently while in the waiting room, and in the chair, he finally had his results. He needs three fillings, a treatment for a gum issue, and all his wisdom teeth pulled! As he left, The Pony paid a portion of his bill. He sent me a picture. Farmer H and I thought it was excessively high.

"What is that for? I don't see an itemized list. It just says "treatment plan." Are the fillings included in that?"

"I think it's for everything but the wisdom teeth. Look what it COULD have been! I got 50 percent off for the insurance rate, and the insurance is going to pay part of the other."

"Still. You might ask what it would be if you just paid cash and didn't go through insurance. Sometimes you can get it cheaper."

"It's fine, Mom. I paid part today, and I will pay the rest when I go back next week for the second part of the gum treatment. I think I have three sessions of it."

Well. Since that text, The Pony looked over his paperwork, and the only thing on that bill was the gum treatments. He was still okay with paying that amount. I know that dental services are expensive. But I don't want to see The Pony taken advantage of by a chain. A stand-alone dentist might be cheaper. Even if they didn't take the insurance.

Anyhoo... it's The Pony's mouth, and The Pony's money. So we didn't dwell on it. It's bad enough going to the dentist, and paying, without somebody being critical of your choice of provider.

Thursday evening, I got another text from The Pony.

"Rare good dentist news! The girl doing the cleaning said it wasn't as bad as they said last week. Lotta stuff off the bill, apparently! They didn't ask me to pay any extra and said anything over the new cost rolls over as a credit."

"That's great!!!"

"Fillings on the 10th. Wisdom teeth I'll probably schedule out sometime at the end of July. Do it on a Friday, take the Saturday off, and not go back until Tuesday."

"You will need a driver. I'm sure Dad will do it, since you have taken him to so many medical appointments."

"Yeah. That's part of my plan to wait. So he can take me, plus having two days off. No way am I having four teeth pulled after a day at work!"

Poor, poor Pony! I don't envy him this procedure. I am going to see if he will spend that Friday night out here at the Mansion with us. So we can keep an eye on him. I will buy him soft foods, and bags of frozen peas to put on his chipmunk cheeks after the pullings!

After A Brief Respite, Farmer H Is Right Back At It.

Trying to kill me, that is. I'm pretty sure. 

We were on the way home from meeting Genius and Friend near the city on Wednesday, to have lunch as they were passing through. Farmer H had just merged A-Cad onto the two-lane divided interstate highway, heading south to the Mansion. We were in the fast lane. A congested line of traffic ahead of us, and another one in the slow lane to our right. 

Coming up on the stoplight that Farmer H knows is there, having driven this road to work for 35 years or more... I could see that the vehicles ahead of us were hitting their brakes.

"Hey! Slow down! They're stopping!"

"I AM slowing down, HM."

"Not fast enough! SLOW DOWN FASTER!"

"I'm slowing down, HM. Calm down!"

SCREEEEEEEECH!

That's the sound I imagine we made. But I was too scared to take note. I was more concentrated on making myself breathe after I nearly slid under the glove compartment as we stopped mere inches from the bumper of the car ahead of us. Those seatbelts don't hold a rumpus too tightly on a leather seat. AND a loud THUMP and vibration on the back of my seat had also distracted me.

Farmer H was silent. He gets like that when he realizes that we almost died.

"What in the NOT-HEAVEN was THAT?"

"I don't know. Something from the back."

"It's a JUG! A giant full jug of liquid!"

"Must be the washer fluid."

"Well. At least you didn't have some spiked metal poles laying back there to impale me."

Maybe now Farmer H will listen to me when I try to help him drive. But probably not.

Farmer H, A Living, Breathing Conundrum

Farmer H finds new ways to annoy me. THIS week, it has been the living room light.

Let the record show that Farmer H regularly goes to bed before Mrs. HM. After supper, he sits in the recliner watching TV. Though it is currently still daylight at 7:00 p.m., that's around the time the sun goes down behind the trees, and our living room grows gloomy. I am in the kitchen, and the living room is a dark cave. I don't mind so much. I have enough light to see down the hall to the bathroom. But when the house is dark, with people inside watching TV, I think a light should be on.

When we were watching my favorite Showtime series, Yellowjackets, for two months, the light was on. Since many of the scenes were dark, I had asked Farmer H to turn off the light while we watched that show, for better contrast.

"It's fine, HM. I can see. We don't need the light off."

Hmpf. Guess he told ME!

But this week (and part of last week), Farmer H has neglected to put on the living room light. So he is watching HIS shows in the dark. Yet I was denied that pleasure!

Also this week, Farmer H has been coming home midday, for various reasons. Coming home while I am taking my nap/daytime sleep around 1:00 or 2:00. A time when the sun has come over the Mansion, and is shining in under the front porch overhang. Lighting up the living room as if it's... oh... I don't know... how you say... DAYLIGHT!

During these daytime sojourns in the living room, Farmer H makes sure he TURNS ON THE LIGHT! Even though it's not needed. THEN he goes out to mow the yard, or fiddle with something at the BARn, while leaving on the living room light!

Just to make myself clear... Farmer H turns on the light in the daytime, yet leaves it off while sitting in the dark at night. Which bothers me most, because when I am ready to go to the short couch and watch TV, I have to walk over to the wall switch to turn on the light. The wall switch that is beside Farmer H's recliner.

I'm starting to think that CONTRARIAN is Farmer H's true middle name. 

Mrs. HM Is Braver Than You Might Assume

Mrs. HM stared death in the face on Monday, through the eyes in the back of her head.

I TOLD FARMER H TO CUT MY HAIR!

Yes, I've grown tired of my wispy, straggly, not-so-Lovely Lady-Mullet. It blows into my eyes and mouth when I step out of T-Hoe. The tendrils bend upon themselves and my collar, and tickle the side of my face when I'm sitting on the short couch. It's a look quite unbecoming to a woman of advancing years. So I decided that it needed to be chopped.

I hate getting my hair cut. I haven't been to Terrible Cuts in over a year. At first it was because I did not want the terrible cutters breathing on me while I was captive in the chair. But then I just decided I didn't want to do things that I find unpleasant. What's a little extra hair on your head, anyway? Until it gets to be too much...

Anyhoo... my favorite non-professional haircutter, The Pony, was not available. So the duty fell to Farmer H. I asked if he wanted the dainty scissors from the bathroom drawer, which I use for cutting my bangs. Or the kitchen shears. Of course he chose the shears. We went out on the deck by the kitchen. I instructed Farmer H to start on one side of my head, cut the hair at shoulder length, then comb out the adjoining sections and snip them at the same length as the first portion. Sounds simple, right?????

Perhaps you know the old joke that men can't measure. IT'S NO JOKE!

To Farmer H, "shoulder length" apparently means four inches above the shoulder! I questioned him as he was making the first cut.

"Are you sure that's shoulder length? Because where I feel you cutting is above my shoulder!"

"It's shoulder length, HM. I just measured it."

Yet I continued to feel that something was amiss. As he went around the back of my head, it felt like he was cutting at the base of my skull! Still, he continued to swear that he was cutting at shoulder length, same as his first snip.

Well. When he said he was done, I reached up, and all my hair was gone!!! Especially a chunk at the back, where there's a definite section that is a whole inch shorter than the surrounding tresses!

"Why did you do this to me? Do you not understand SHOULDER LENGTH? That means the hair touches the shoulder!"

"I knew you wouldn't like it. I told Pony, and he said HE didn't want to cut your hair, either!"

"You know it will take three years to grow it back like it was, right? Even though I don't want it that long again. You have just taken three years off my head!"

"It will be fine, HM. In fact, when you look at it, you'll think it looks good."

The ego on that man! But here's a little secret. After my shower, when my hair had dried... it actually looked better than the wispy mess it had been before the chopping. Don't tell Farmer H.

Making The Most Of His Day

The Pony took Farmer H out for lunch on Father's Day. The plan was to go eat at the local catfish restaurant at 3:00. Of course Farmer H switched things up, and decided to leave his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) early, to eat at 1:00. Because, you know, he couldn't imagine everyone else in the county taking their father to eat catfish after church.

I didn't know this until he showed up at the Mansion while I was trying to catch 40 minutes of ZZZZs before going to town. I swear, I had just laid down at 2:20, with my alarm set for 3:00. It took me 10 minutes to fall asleep, and then all at once, in a dream where I was tattooing people on Ink Masters, and subsequently designing beautiful square wooden end tables... I was awakened by a loud THUD.

It sounded like somebody was bagging up the trash, with the bag having an empty pickle jar in the bottom. Then I noticed that the living room light was on. And the TV that had been turned off was blaring Wagon Train or a similar western. I gave up then, and arose to take my shower. Curiously, there was nobody in the living room.

When I got out, Farmer H was in his recliner. I asked about the THUD, and he said he had pulled out a kitchen stool to sit at the cutting block. Huh. Must have turned it over, since I don't recall making a noise like that any time I pulled out a stool, heh, heh.

Oh, and I also discovered that Farmer H had scratched the scratchers I gave him for Father's Day, without waiting for me to vicariously revel in the thrill, and had won $40.

"How was your catfish?"

"We didn't go there. The line was out the door and into the parking lot at 1:15!"

"Of course it was! That's where everybody takes people around here to celebrate something."

"We had the Chinese buffet instead."

I'm sure they both enjoyed it. I think Farmer H had a pretty good day. A feast, $40, and annoying me!

A Good Deed On The Home Front

Farmer H went to his 50th high school reunion Saturday night. His school had small classes. There were 37 former students and teachers who showed up. Farmer H helped plan the festivities. He took the cake. Literally. Not figuratively. And also a commemorative token, which was a little metal bottle opener in school colors, with the mascot and year printed on it.

When he came home, Farmer H was carrying two styrofoam containers. 

"I brought you something. Some fried chicken and ribs."

"What kind of chicken?"

"I don't know. I brought four pieces. A leg. I think a breast. And maybe a back."

"A BACK? Who eats a chicken back these days?"

"Well, I don't know. I don't know the pieces."

Seriously? In this day and age, what elderly man does not know his chicken pieces? Anyhoo... this was a nice gesture.

MMMMM! I'm not a big fan of ribs, but I'm not turning them down! They were more smoked than barbecued, so I got some extra sauce to dip it in. One rib portion was enough for me.

The fried chicken was indeed a breast and a leg. I don't like legs. But the other two pieces were thighs. So there's still food for Sunday, although Farmer H is being taken out for dinner by The Pony.  No cake for me, but at least Farmer H thought about me, and brought home some meat.

Darn Tootin', She Don't Like No Shootin'

A couple things about our new rescued dog Scarlett...

She really does not like shooting! Over the past week, our neighbor, Copper Jack's human daddy, has been shooting in the woods down behind his house. He's an avid hunter, with bow and firearms. I don't know of any critter that's in season to hunt right now, so he must be sighting a new gun for future use.

Anyhoo... it's not very loud. We're in the woods. Everybody has at least a 10-acre parcel of land. So it's not like he's standing under our back porch firing off machine gun rounds. I can hear it in the kitchen, but Farmer H can't hear it from the living room. Scarlett sure hears it! When it starts, she BARKS! She's not much of a barker. But guns set her off. I don't know if that's irony, what with her formerly being owned by a police officer. I'm pretty sure Scarlett didn't go to the gun range. She's not a police dog.

After a brief hiccup of freedom (which will be discussed elsewhere), Scarlett has been behaving herself by staying here at the Mansion while being off her lead for almost a week. Farmer H saw her running with the pair of Jacks yesterday, out of our yard, and across the gravel road. They usually do that while tracking rabbits.

When I came down the driveway a couple days ago, Scarlett ran out from under the carport behind little Jack, to join him with Copper Jack in barking a greeting for my return. She ran into the garage when I opened the door, and met me as I climbed out of T-Hoe. She did not jump in when I told her NO. She also does not jump up on me when I say NO. She stands and waits for me to pet her. I can see that she wants to jump into T-Hoe's rear as I'm getting out groceries, but lots of NOs keep her grounded.

Scarlett likes having the fur of her shoulders ruffled when I pet her, but that causes lots of hairs to fly into my mouth! She is a sweet girl who seems happy at last. She will lie on the back porch where I can see her sometimes. Not much pacing now. She looks forward to her daily treats, but will grab the first one I throw down, regardless of who it is designated for. Jack has learned to hang back, and get the best one when I toss the first in Scarlett's direction.

I'm still not sure if Scarlett realizes that she's a dog. She will be in Jack's vicinity, but not interact. When the dogs came barking to greet me, part of their fun is to bark at each other, and sometimes play-fight. Even Juno joined in that game. Scarlett just walked past Copper Jack and gave him a withering look when he turned to bark at her. Perhaps they will eventually become frenemies.

The Handicapped Handicapping The Barely Ambulatory

Sweet Gummi Mary! It's getting so that nobody (meaning ME, MYSELF, and I) is safe anymore, whether encased in T-Hoe, or walking in a handicap zone! Today's drivers are ridiculous! 

On the way home Thursday, I was starting down the straightaway after passing the prison. A garbage truck was stopped by a driveway, taking up most of the oncoming lane. That happens with rural garbage trucks. If you're behind them, you have to wait until they turn off, or until you have a clear space to pass.

There were four cars behind that garbage truck. I could see them stopped, waiting. Then the first one pulled out into my lane to go around. No problem. I was far enough away. He had time. As did the second car. That's when the problem(s) arose. The other two cars decided THEY were entitled to go around. Au contraire. The speed limit is 55 mph. I was going 50, out of respect for that garbage truck. There was NOT enough time or space for the second two cars to pull into my lane and pass. I had to hit the brakes, or hit head-on those two idiots. Well. The first one. Which would then have been hit from behind by the second one.

A person with less-steely nerves than Mrs. HM would have probably taken T-Hoe into the ditch. I was down to about 10 mph when those two cars cut back over in front of the garbage truck, vacating my rightful lane. You can bet that I laid heavy on the horn. Just to shame them. They are lucky I was in control, since T-Hoe was bigger than their sedans, and would have come out on the best end of a collision.

My town time was not much safer! Over in Sis-Town, I walked out of the Casey's to go pump my gas. As usual, I had taken Pump 4 (which thankfully had all its hoses and nozzles this day) so that I could walk directly across the handicap walkway and make use of the sidewalk ramp.

A white SUV came around the corner, and stopped. I thought it was waiting on me to go on across. I did not, because I'm so slow. I could not see inside to discern whether they were waving me across. So I just stayed put in the handicap walkway until it passed. But it DIDN'T pass! 

That white SUV turned right at me! I had to scurry sideways out of the walkway to avoid being run over at the speed of 0.5 mph! The three parking spaces on my left were empty. And the two on my right were also empty. Yet this driver had to have THAT particular parking space, which is not even the designated handicap space, and swing wide before trying to semi-straighten his vehicle into it.

You'd think a handicapped parker would have more respect for a gimp... He tried to HANDICAP ME! And I will just say, seeing him walk out and get back in his car, he did not LOOK handicapped to me. Perhaps he was driving someone else's car. But more likely his handicap is mental!

The Common Sense Is Weak In This One

I was giving a tiny bit of consideration to complimenting Farmer H on Wednesday. Just a tiny bit. I noticed that there was a new roll of paper towels on the dispenser that sits on the cutting block. 

Of course, if I myself had put out a new roll, as has happened with all the other 'levntythousand rolls of paper towels in the Mansion, I would have finished using the cheap kind that I bought thinking they were better. This was an ACTUAL BOUNTY SELECT-A-SIZE roll of paper towels, picked up by The Pony for me at the Devil's Playground.

Anyhoo... I presume that Farmer H made a big mess of something, because there had been about 10 paper towels left on the previous cheap roll. But actually taking off the cardboard tube, and putting on a new roll from the pantry, is certainly above Farmer H's unpaid grade. So props to him for making the effort, even IF he might have been hiding a catastrophic spill.

I was sitting at HIPPIE at the kitchen table as Farmer H brought his supper plate back to the kitchen. He reached for a paper towel, which reminded me that I might want to thank him. And then...

FARMER H TORE OFF A PAPER TOWEL AND BLEW HIS NOSE!

Sweet Gummi Mary! He used an entire Select-A-Size sheet! I even tear my Puffs With Lotion in half, to make them last twice as long. It's perfectly sufficient for a normal nose-blow, half a Puff. With a cold it's different, but for everyday use, half is as good as a whole.

Never mind that there was a Puffs box of tissues within arm's reach of Farmer H, on the kitchen peninsula next to the sink. And another box three steps away on the other counter, under the cabinets beside the stove. 

Nope. Farmer H had to use an entire paper towel, the GOOD KIND, for a simple nose-blow. I swear, he's going to put us in the poormansion with these extravagances!

Mrs. HM Doesn't Need A New Best Friend

Monday, I was in line at the left lottery machine in Country Mart. I had to improvise, because that machine was not scanning tickets. So my winners I had planned to cash in had to be saved for another day. I had some small bills in my pocket, and was trying to figure out how I wanted to spend them. I was wanting a $3 crossword, a $3 Froot Loot, and a $5 crossword. Yet I didn't want to use six one-dollar bills. I was getting ready to put in a ten and a one. However...

A lady stepped up behind me. More beside me than behind me. She started chatting away. I turned to look at her, in case she was one of the store workers who greet me. She had a name tag clipped to her collar, but I didn't recognize her. Maybe she's a new trainee for when they ever get their deli remodeled.

Anyhoo... when I buy my scratchers, I'm not in a chatty mood. Before or after, fine. But not DURING! Sweet Gummi Mary! What kind of crazy person would do that? THIS crazy person, apparently.

"Are you buying all the winners out of it?"

"Trying to!"

"Oh. You buy the big tickets!"

"I like these $3 tickets. And I love the $5 crossword." 

(I don't find those particularly expensive.)

"I play the dollar tickets."

"Huh. I can't win on those. But my son has, when I have extra money in the machine."

"I see those big tickets, and I think of how many hours I have to work to buy them. I never win on the Froot Loot."

"I do."

"A lot of people do! Just not me."

"It's one that usually pays me back. I was trying to cash in a $6 winner, but this machine is acting up again."

"Oh, it'll do that."

With all this chatting, I had fed that cantankerous machine a ten and a five! Dang it! So now there was an extra $4 in there that I hadn't planned to spend. So I pushed another Froot Loot, and a dollar ticket to give The Pony. Then I skedaddled out of there before Chatty Batty could talk my other ear off.

Here's the thing. The tickets I planned to buy were losers. That extra Froot Loot won $9. So I guess I will not begrudge Chatty Batty our conversation. Even though she made me spend an extra four dollars to win nine.

Knock-Knock-Knockin' On HM's Door

Remember when we got the Friday phone call at 8:51 p.m., announcing (yet again) that our smart meter would be installed in 7-10 days? Well. I guess the fifth time's a charm. The following Tuesday, at 8:50 a.m., our smart meter arrived.

I knew, because the dogs were barking their fool heads off. Then I heard footsteps on the front porch, and a knockin' at the door. Two sets of knockin'. Of course I stayed seated on the short couch, under my comfy fleece throw left to me by The Pony when he moved out of the Mansion. All of their calls had stated that nobody needed to be home for the (forced) installation of the smart meter.

Through the mini cracks of the mini blinds on the front picture window, I saw the technician walk around the porch towards our not-smart meter. Since the recording had said that we would lose power for up to 30 minutes, I decided it would be a good time to get in a flush before the well pump was disabled. I hobbled to the bathroom next to The Pony's bedroom. Of course I closed the door!

You know what happened, right?

I had just finished tinkling, and was preparing to hoist myself off the throne, when THE POWER WENT OFF! Yep! No flush for me. And I was sitting in complete darkness, in an interior bathroom with the door sealing out natural daylight. Welp. That plan was being guffawed at by The Universe.

We've lived here 25 years. My sense of direction is not so bad that I can't find my way out of a dark bathroom. I could still feel the sink in front of me. I got up and opened the door, and THE LIGHTS CAME BACK ON! The power was only off for a couple minutes. 

The technician walked past the window. The dogs went crazier. The whole ordeal had taken MAYBE 15 minutes at most. I sent Farmer H a text that we had our smart meter, but the dogs were still riled up.

"OK probably barn"

So I guess the BARn got a smart meter, too. I was relieved the process was finally over. Thought that was the end of it. 

Today we started getting calls from the electric company. First leaving no message. Then a recording asking for our feedback on the installation of our smart meter.

They'd better not be calling at 8:51 p.m.!!!

The More You Sit In The Kitchen, The More You Know

Since I've been computing at the kitchen table, I am much more knowledgeable than I was in my dark basement lair. I've seen things I didn't need to see, like Farmer H wrestling a Diet Mountain Dew free from the 6-pack on FRIG II's top shelf each time, rather than freeing them all at once. Like Farmer H taking both a Little Debbie Swiss Roll for a snack at night, AND a mini Moon Pie. Also, things I DID need to see. Such as Farmer H trying to kill me by tossing that jagged lid from the refried bean can into the trash. And like Saturday afternoon...

I had baked brownies for a treat after our intended supper of Domino's Pizza. They were done and sitting on the stove, cooled, draped with red Glad Cling Wrap, because that's what I had open. Must have been left from a couple Christmas seasons ago. I don't use much Cling Wrap.

Anyhoo... Farmer H had brought home the pizza, and let Scarlett loose to roam. He ate his supper. I went out to pet Scarlett and Jack. She stayed around the porch. For quite a while... Then when Farmer H was ready to tie her up for the night, he couldn't find her or the pair of Jacks. About 10 minutes later, he got on the lawnmower (!) and went riding up the gravel road to the last place she had run away to. 

Meanwhile, I saw Scarlett on the back porch again, lying there panting. I guess she'd had a run, and come back. I sent Farmer H a text, but he didn't see it. He was back in about five minutes. Came in and said the Jacks had come to meet him when they heard the lawnmower, and followed along with him. And when he came home, Scarlett ran out in the yard to meet him at the end of the driveway. He thinks the Jacks took her off to leave her somewhere. I don't!

Anyhoo... Farmer H sat down for a few minutes to pet the dogs. He said Scarlett jumped right up in his lap. Then she was lying on the front porch, and little Jack nosed her off onto the ground! He used to do that with our black tuxedo cat, Socks. Start nosing and yipping and pushing until eventually, that fat cat could no longer hold on with his claws, and was shoved off into the rock garden. Heh, heh. Little Jack is a herder! And likes playing Kind of the Porch.

Anyhoo... Farmer H told me this as he came in with a water jug to fill and take over to Scarlett's dish. When he came back in the house, he went to the brownie pan and lifted the plastic wrap.

"WAIT A MINUTE! You aren't going to wash your hands?"

"Huh. I guess I can."

Seriously? He had been petting the dogs and driving the mower! It's not like our dogs are pretty pampered pooches who are bathed regularly, and lounge about on the furniture, living a privileged, clean life. They are outside dogs who roll in aromatic entrails and drag deer bones onto the porch and take a dip in the green-algae-coated fake fish pond. I don't want any of those spices flavoring my brownies!

I think I might have discovered the reason I sometimes feel... indisposed... for no discernable reason.

What We Have Here Is A Failure To Elucidate

A couple weeks ago, I got a bargain at Country Mart. An actual bargain, not just them marking down one of their outrageous prices and calling it a "sale," while cost was still above what one would normally pay elsewhere.

There was a display of Frito-Lay products, the large "party size" bags, priced 3-for-$10. The regular price for each bag was $6.99. Of course I bought three. I rarely buy brand-name chips from Country Mart, because of the high prices. I got a bag of Ruffles, a bag of Fritos Scoops, and a bag of Tostitos Scoops. Farmer H loves Ruffles potato chips. Me, not so much. I'm a plain Lays gal, and even prefer the generic brands.

Anyhoo... I set the plastic grocery bag of the three varieties in the pantry. Last week, I got out the Tostitos Scoops for Farmer H to have with the leftover taco meat. Made him a dip of that meat, shredded cheddar, diced onions, salsa, and sour cream. Then I had the same, but using the Fritos Scoops. It was delicious.

Anyhoo... Friday night I fried some generic Spam for Farmer H to make sandwiches. He likes it with yellow mustard and sliced onion, on Nutty Oat Bread. I reminded him that there were Ruffles in the pantry. He got out the bag, and I snipped off the top with scissors, even though he wanted to try and rip it open. He's getting arthritis pretty bad, and has trouble gripping. I could imagine what a mess he would make of the top of that bag, most likely getting a rip down the side.

Anyhoo... on Saturday morning, (meaning NOON:15), I opened up the pantry to get a box of expired brownie mix that The Pony didn't take with him when he moved out. There on the bottom of the pantry was the plastic grocery bag that had held the Ruffles.

That's right. Farmer H grabbed the Ruffles bag, and shook it until the plastic grocery bag fell off, leaving that plastic grocery bag, which had just become TRASH, behind on the floor of the pantry. Well! You can imagine the topic of This Is The Time Of Day We Discuss The Most Recent Think You've Done Wrong.

"Hey! "You left the plastic bag on the floor of the pantry when you got out the chips!"

"Huh."

"So you left trash in the pantry for me to pick up."

Silence.

"No normal person would do that!"

Silence.

"Do you think that's normal behavior?"

Silence.

"DO YOU THINK THAT'S NORMAL BEHAVIOR?"

Silence.

"I don't hear you..."

Silence.

"Either you are admitting you are not normal, or you're deliberately not-answering, which makes you a rumpushole."

"I'm not a rumpushole, HM."

Okay. It's settled. Farmer H is not normal. 

A normal person would have apologized. Perhaps adding, "I'll get it when I come in the kitchen." No effort on Farmer H's part to remedy the act of not-normalness. Which I think still qualifies him as a rumpushole.

Privileges Revoked!

Farmer H went over to work in his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) on Thursday. He's been reorganizing some merchandise after moving everything out of his original SUS. Not many sellers are there through the week. A flea market is mainly a weekend activity.

"I had the urge, and hurried over to the Port-A-Potty to poop. The door was locked! So I rushed up to the one in front, and it was locked, too! I had to drive down to Captain D's to use theirs. My buddy told me that the woman who runs the storage units locked the doors because there's been a problem with homeless people going in them. One was in there for two hours the other day."

"Well. I could see that. She might be worried that people are shooting drugs in there. Then they nod off. If they die, it won't be good publicity!"

"Maybe. The locks are combination locks. I'm gonna ask her if she can give us people with lockers the combination. Then we can go if we need to."

Friday, Farmer H said he told the lady that he almost pooped his pants because he couldn't get into the Port-A-Potty. She said that anybody with a locker should just come get her, and she'll unlock the door for them. Which seems kind of like being a kid again, having to ask permission to use the bathroom. 

Farmer H needs to have a backup plan. Or two.

Out Of Mrs. HM's Fingertips And Into The Universe

Mrs. HM is feeling a bit guilty tonight, sitting here at the kitchen table at 10:12 p.m. Remember how I was wishing Farmer H had chosen a different time for his back doctor appointment? The Universe heard my wish! To the detriment of Farmer H! He has to go back next week! Only had 10 minutes of x-rays! That story will be told on my not-so-secret blog. Maybe on Sunday.

Anyhoo... Farmer H didn't even show up at the Mansion before I left for my errand day. So I only had to actually put up with him from 7:30 to 9:30 a.m. Oh, and previous to that, from 10:30 p.m. to 1:30 a.m., because he got out of bed saying his hip hurt, and laid in the recliner. Which I find annoying, even though he isn't doing anything. Just laying there in his tighty-whities, eyes closed, breathing. I never know if he's asleep or not. If I should talk, or if I can change the TV channel.

I'm not sure where Farmer H went after his x-rays. He WAS here at 4:00 when I got home from errands. Scarlett was loose! She was running with the pair of Jacks! That's unusual. Usually, Scarlett acts like she's human, and scorns interaction with the Jacks. But this time, she came running over to the garage as I came down the driveway. Copper Jack was in the lead, looking back over his shoulder for her. Then my little Jack. And Scarlett. She didn't even dart into the garage!

When I came out the people door, Scarlett was standing beside Jack on the porch. She ran down the steps to jump up on me. I gave her a hug. I know that only encourages jumping. I'll work on that. THEN Scarlett jumped up on the side porch! Seriously. Flat-footed! She just leaped up there like it was nothing! Of course I'm used to Jack, who definitly can't do that. Even Juno didn't jump up like that. Down, yes. But not up. Not even taking a run at it.

Also, Scarlett came over to the kitchen door with Jack while he was awaiting his treat. She didn't try to run inside. She didn't steal Jack's treat, the best one, which was a quarter of a hot dog bun soaked with hamburger grease. Scarlett got half a slice of stale sourdough bread. She ate it like a regular dog. No turning up her dainty nose.

Farmer H was over on Shackytown Boulevard. He got fresh water for Scarlett, and hooked her back on the lead for the night. We want to try and leave her loose, but he will be busy with his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) for three days. Maybe Sunday afternoon.

I think it's a good sign that Scarlett seems to have befriended the Jacks.

If Only He Could Have Chosen A Better Time

Farmer H goes back to the back doctor on Thursday. His appointment is for 11:00. That's what the appointment card says. He has not gotten a call to confirm the appointment. I told him to take that card, in case they try to gaslight him into thinking he went at the wrong time. Of course, I haven't looked at the appointment card. So perhaps Farmer H has messed up his days again...

Anyhoo... this has me dreading the day, because first of all, Farmer H will be hanging around the Mansion until it's time to leave for his appointment. Probably until 9:30. Of all the days for him to NOT get out early for his Casey's donuts. Also, with the appointment near midday, Farmer H will be coming home to annoy me before his regular return time. I'm getting BOTH short ends of the same stick!

I had hopefully inquired about Farmer H's afternoon plans. But no. He has none. 

At least I should be gone upon his return, with it being my errand day for the bank, post office, T-Hoe's gas, and of course scratchers.

I already have a headache, just thinking about having him underfoot. Then again, it's my second day of this headache. Maybe it's related to the Canada wildfire smoke. We've had hazy days for a while, and yesterday my eyes were burning. A new addition to the sneezing and throat-clearing.

You Need A Compass, A Topographical Map, GPS, And A Rand McNally Road Atlas To Follow A Farmer H Conversation

Darn that Farmer H! You can be cruising along, thinking you're having a normal conversation, and then it comes to a screeching halt as he veers hard left into unpaved territory.

Farmer H spent Monday working on Pony House, finishing the trim in the second bathroom and second bedroom. He had done the attic insulation last week, and also spent a couple days at the Flip House, getting under the house to clean out junk, and jacking up and replacing some floor joists.

Tuesday morning, I mentioned that I was going by to pick up The Pony's house payment. I was planning to ask if the insulation was helping his air conditioner to work better [it was]. Farmer H snorted, eager to tell a story.

"Me and Old Buddy went in the second bedroom to get some tools, and there was a dead squirrel on the floor of the second bedroom! We knew there had been one in the attic that didn't get trapped. I guess this one was it."

"WHAT? How long has it been there???"

"I don't know. It wasn't stinkin' or nothin'. But it was stiff. So a few days, anyway."

"Makes me wonder how long it's been since Pony was in that second bedroom! He said he makes sure to flush all the toilets once a week, and see if they need cleaning. You'd think he would notice a dead squirrel! That's disturbing."

"The squirrel wasn't in Pony House, HM! It was in the Flip House."

"We were talking about Pony House!"

"No. I said we went by the Flip House to get some tools to take to Pony House."

"You did not! You just said you went into the second bedroom to get some tools."

Farmer H THINKS he says things that are only in his mind. I've tried to tell him I am not a mind-reader. I am particularly illiterate in the language of Farmer H's mind.

It Would Be A Public Service, Really. Feeding The Car-Less.

With the hot weather here to stay, there's been an explosion of people driving their side-by-sides to town. They're like fancier Gators. Like souped-up golf carts. Some of them can go 80 mph, Farmer H says. That doesn't mean they SHOULD! They annoy me on the road, because there are no SIDES on a side-by-side. Some have seatbelts, some don't. People don't wear helmets. Think about how dangerous that is! How can a passenger survive if hit by an actual CAR that belongs on the road???

Anyhoo... they just annoy me from a safety standpoint. They annoy Farmer H because people don't have to pay taxes and have licenses on them like a car, yet they think they have the same driving rights as a car.

I was two cars behind a side-by-side at Dairy Queen the other day. The woman driving it could not seem to get it in gear. Every time she pulled forward in the drive-thru line, she would turn it off. Then have trouble getting it to move forward again. It kind of jumped, like it may get out of control! Also, a young girl kept getting out of the back seat and walking around behind it to get in the other side. BELT HER! Is what I wanted to say. With a seatbelt connotation, of course.

Anyhoo... one day I encountered FIVE side-by-sides on my hour trip to town. Sometimes they come out our gravel road. Sometimes they turn off before. But here's what I have been fantasizing thinking about...

I CAN FEED THE CAR-LESS!!!

Yep. It's dust season out here in Hillmoma. Clouds of dust billow up behind T-Hoe once I turn onto our gravel road. If a side-by-side just happens to be behind me, the driver and passengers are going to get their fill of dust! They won't just be satiated. They will be bloated like post-Thanksgiving Dinner after eating my dust.

Just one more service Mrs. Hillbilly Mom provides.

Panic In Hillmomba!

Sweet Gummi Mary! Mrs. HM's heart was all aflutter on Saturday. With her helicopter up on blocks, she was seriously considering calling for an UberCopter! The reason? An incommunicado Pony!

Let the record show that I don't check on The Pony every day. I've let that apron string fray almost to its severance. Sometimes I go a week to 10 days without hearing from The Pony. I know he works. And I, myself, have quite a demanding scratcher life. But when I DO text The Pony, I am accustomed to a response. Farmer H, not so much. But The Pony always replies to me. If not immediately, within 30-60 minutes.

Saturday, I was planning to inform The Pony of the current state of his Flip House bill. The half which he reimburses us for on Farmer H's cash outlay, and the electric, and the Lowe's bill for materials. I wanted to explain, rather than just sending him a photo of Farmer H's chicken-scratch list on notebook paper. Well. The Pony's phone went straight to voice mail. I'm the MOM! I don't leave voice mail!

I sent The Pony a text that I had tried to call, but got voice mail. Nothing important. Just checking on his next day off, and when to come get his house payment and Flip House expenses.

No response from that initial call at 11:00 a.m., and 1:20. So I called Farmer H at his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) and explained the situation. He was just closing up, and said he'd go by. KNOCK FIRST, I told him. Can't just go barging in. The Pony is an adult, and "owns" that house after payoff is complete.

THEN I got a response from The Pony at 1:36. So I called Farmer H to abort the mission.

Seems that The Pony's phone was dead, and he was taking a nap. Well. I can't really criticize a nap at 11:00 a.m., when I don't even go to bed until after that...

Anyhoo... I will never stop worrying about The Pony. Friday was really hot and humid, temps in low 90s. He could have become overheated or dehydrated at work! It was his "weekend" night, when he enjoys an adult beverage. He could have fallen and smashed his noggin! We won't even entertain the thought of a ne'er-do-well breaking in and wreaking havoc.

Thank the Gummi Mary, Genius had sent me a photo of potato salad at 9:45 a.m. So at least my UberCopter would not have cost me a flight to Pittsburgh.

There Oughta Be A Law. Or Two!

As I type this, it is 8:51 p.m. on Friday. Our house phone just rang. Didn't announce the number as the caller ID usually does. I could not hear if a message was left, because Farmer H has been in bed for over 30 minutes, with the door closed. The answering machine is in there. Let me go check...

I always get nervous at night when the phone rings, even though both boys and Sis have my cell number. Any other time of day, I think it might be somebody who got our mail by mistake.

SWEET GUMMI MARY! Do you know who that was??? Probably not, since I did not know myself. But wrap your not-as-empty-as-my head around THIS! It was the freakin' electric company!!! With the fifth announcement that we should be expecting a representative in 7-10 days to install our smart meter.

There oughta be a law! First of all, against the forced installation of smart meters! But I doubt that will ever happen. Secondly, against calling at this hour of the night. I know telemarketers can call until 9:00 p.m. local time. But seriously. It was a recording. Can the electric company not manage to get their robocalls out at a more acceptable hour? Before the elderlies go to bed?

Farmer H needs his beauty sleep!

T-Hoe's Latest Affliction

A few days ago, the skies clouded over while I was in town. It was 5:30, but looked later. I pulled up behind a small sedan at the stoplight, and noticed that there was only one reflection bouncing back at me. T-Hoe is from 2008, when daytime running lights were a thing. So every time I drive him, the headlights are on. Day or night, they come on automatically.

Anyhoo... that made me wonder if T-Hoe's right headlight was working. I don't get out after dark, unless something has delayed me getting home. So it's not a big deal, though it IS illegal to drive with only one headlight. I'm pretty sure that doesn't apply to daylight driving, but only to times when headlights are necessary to see.

Anyhoo... when I pulled into the garage, I could see the left headlight shining on the front wall. But not the right. I tried the high beams. Huh. Still not seeing the right side illuminated. That's odd. They're different bulbs. Yet I could see both on the left side. I flipped the control a couple times. Bright. Regular. Bright. Regular. Bright. Regular.

WAIT A MINUTE! Both lights were shining on the front wall of the garage!

I haven't had a chance yet to tell Farmer H. This seems more like something is going on with the electrical connections, rather than a burned-out bulb. As I've mentioned before, sometimes the radio just goes dead. Lights, sound. Nothing. No fiddling with the controls will bring it back. But then it just starts again on its own. Not related to hitting bumps or turning off the ignition.

I'm sure Farmer H will ridicule me and tell me this is not possible. Like he did when I told him that T-Hoe feels like he's putt-putting along, now that the oil change finally happened. He said it's not related to the oil change. I can't help it if this started the same day, hours after the oil change. It may be completely unrelated. I was just telling Farmer H that there's something not right with T-Hoe. He idles roughly, and doesn't accelerate smoothly. It's like when you go to squeeze out some Blue Cheese Dressing, and a chunk of cheese gets stuck in the hole, then shoots out with a quirt of dressing.

Now if I can just make T-Hoe's lights do the on/off thing while Farmer H is observing...

Oil And Mountain Dew

After four or five whining reminders, Farmer H declared that he would take T-Hoe RIGHT THEN and get the oil changed. It was "early" on Wednesday morning, before he left to putter around with his junk.

Farmer H was home by 9:15, T-Hoe now having 100 percent oil life left, rather than the 9 percent that was draining his automotive health. For once he didn't adjust the seat to his short legs, nor fiddle with my radio stations, nor re-park T-Hoe so close to the garage wall that the door slammed against the 2x4 studs.

You'd think Farmer H deserved a belated blue ribbon, wouldn't you? Well. Don't!

As I was getting out the ingredients to pre-start supper, I saw a depressing sight in FRIG II. Farmer H was down to only one Diet Mountain Dew. Oh, it's not like we're out. There were 9 six-packs in T-Hoe's rear! I buy them when Country Mart has a special. It's not as special as it used to be, heh, heh. Now they're 3-for-$11. Not all that cheap, until you consider that the regular price is $4.99 per six-pack.

Anyhoo... I've been stockpiling the Diet Mountain Dew. No room in the Mansion for all that, though Farmer H could probably garner some free grocery shelves to start hoarding up my kitchen. I leave the soda in T-Hoe, and bring in one six-pack at a time. I don't want to carry more than one. It's heavy!

So spoiled is Farmer H that he rarely deigns to put his own soda in FRIG II. I'm kind of tired of doing things that he can do for himself. I will grudgingly put the six-pack on the top shelf, but I draw the line at wrestling the bottles out of the plastic rings that bind them together. Of course Farmer H leaves them hooked to each other, only peeling out one at a time as he drinks them. Makes putting items on the top shelf more awkward, working around that block of soda.

Anyhoo... I was a bit perturbed that Farmer H had been RIGHT THERE, in the garage with T-Hoe, and couldn't grab a six-pack of his own soda to carry in when he brought back the keys.

"I can't believe you didn't carry in your soda! You were RIGHT THERE. You KNOW you're running out."

"I didn't think of it, HM."

Said Farmer H as he twisted the cap off the last Diet Mountain Dew I had carried to him when I took him a plate of Ritz Crackers, two cheese sticks, and a few slices of ham at 2:30, since he missed lunch at the Senior Center, and hadn't eaten anything.

I guess I should have given him four or five reminders.

The Work-Maker

Tuesday night we had chicken burritos for supper. I got all of Farmer H's ingredients together, but he was in charge of spooning them into the tortilla and folding it. I can't do everything for him, you know. Or pretty soon I'd be chewing it and baby-birding it into his gaping maw.

Anyhoo... I had set everything on the cutting block for Farmer H. Everything he'd need. Then I gave him instructions to put the stuff back in FRIG II, since I make my meal later than his.

When I got up later and walked past the cutting block, I saw that he had left some diced onions, shredded cheddar, and shredded cabbage ( 2 packs for $3, compared to shredded lettuce at $3.88 a bag!) on a paper plate. Seriously. I could have used that cheddar if he'd put it back in FRIG II. But that wasn't what stuck in my craw!

FARMER H HAD LICKED THE SPOONS!

Yes. I could clearly see his tongue marks on the spoons that I had carefully set out so he didn't use one spoon in the salsa and sour cream, thus contaminating the contents.

"Did you lick the spoons?"

"Yes. You don't like it when I leave them messy." 

"They're STILL messy! It's not like you rinsed them and put them in the sink. Now I have to dirty three more spoons. Because you also licked the big spoon from the refried beans pan. Always making more work for ME!"

Can you believe I didn't even get a "sorry" from Farmer H? Never mind. I'm sure you can.