Like Living With A Grown-Up PigPen

Farmer H doesn't quite walk around in a cloud of filth like Charlie Brown's buddy PigPen. But it could happen any day.

Monday, Farmer H had proclaimed that he wouldn't be home, because he was going to an auction that starts early. Of course I knew this meant that he WOULD be home, because that's what always happens. I won't expect him, then he comes barging in and scares the Not-Heaven out of me.

I had laid down for my nap at 2:00, with my alarm set for 2:30. When you only sleep 3-4 hours a night, that half-hour can make a difference. At 2:25, I was awakened by random thumping, then a slamming noise. I figured it was Farmer H waltzing about on his footless stumps, but was puzzled by the slamming. Without even turning over to look, I said,

"Of course you're home to wake me up. What happened to 'not coming home?' And what are you DOING to make that slamming noise?"

"I've BEEN home, HM. I fixed my mower again, and mowed over in the field. It's about an hour until I leave for the auction. And that noise was the toilet seat sticking to my butt when I stood up."

"I TOLD you I hate that toilet seat! It always does that! It's not heavy enough. But at least it's not shaped like a funnel like the other one."

"Oh, bullhocky! There's nothing wrong with that toilet seat."

Because obviously, my opinions don't count unless they mirror Farmer H's opinions. Anyhoo... once he cleared out of the Mansion, I got up for my shower before going to town. When I walked into the master bathroom, I recoiled in horror.

SOMETHING WAS ON THE TOILET SEAT!!!

Of course I jumped to the conclusion that it was poop. Farmer H has a history of that, you know. But when I looked closer, at the stuff all over the front half of the toilet seat, I saw that it was blades of grass and leaf particles.

What in the Not-Heaven???

I suppose that while Farmer H was mowing, stuff flew up and got on his pants. So when he stood up from the toilet and pulled them up and fastened his belt, the particles fell off onto the toilet seat.

Was it wrong of me, for a split second, to imagine that Farmer H had been out in the yard, dragging his rumpus across the grass like a dog?