Monday, October 28, 2024

An Incredible Tale Of Staggering Helplessness

Uh huh. You already know who this is about, don't you? When Farmer H got home Friday evening, I asked if he'd eaten lunch at the Senior Center.

"No. I got busy and didn't make it in time."

"So you didn't have any lunch? I guess I need to stop my tickets and get your supper right now."

"No. I'm okay for now. I ate some peanuts that I have down at my locker."

"I can warm up your chicken. It's not a big deal. Do you want something on the side? Cauliflower and cheese? A baked potato? Some Beanie Weenies?"

"No. But I might have those Beanie Weenies right now, and you can wait until you're done to warm my chicken. I can get 'em myself."

"Okay, if you're sure. They're in the little pantry."

The little pantry is a tall cabinet on the right side of FRIG II. As tall as FRIG II. Connected to the kitchen counter with the other top and bottom cabinets that make a corner, then run along to the stove. Farmer H came to the kitchen, and opened up the top cabinet in the corner.

"Wait! What are you doing? That's the bread cabinet! Not the pantry."

"Huh." Farmer H opened up the upper cabinet to the left of the bread cabinet.

"NO. That's the spice cabinet! I told you, the Beanie Weenies are in the little pantry!"

Third try, Farmer H got it right. The little pantry has only been there for 27 years, you know. He went to the drawer and got out what I thought was a spoon.

"Do you drain out the liquid? Do you want them in a bowl, warm?"

"Yeah, most of it." Farmer H popped the top off the can and started pouring the liquid down the sink. "I can eat them like this. They don't have to be warm." He started out of the kitchen, back towards his recliner. That's when I noticed the can he was carrying was blue. Not a label with brown beans on it.

"Hey! Wait! What have you got? That's not Beanie Weenies! It's Vienna Sausages!"

"Huh. Same thing. It's got weenies."

"Don't you need a bowl to get them out of the can?"

"No. I have a fork. I can get them out."

"They'll tear apart."

"I can eat them with the fork."

SWEET GUMMI MARY! How can a man not recognize a pantry that's been in his house for 27 years, or notice that he's just drained clear liquid out of a can of Vienna Sausages, and not brown sauce from a can of beans with wieners? AND, when he got a fork, he chose the small "salad" fork, rather than the regular long fork he prefers.

Don't even get me started on how he threw that metal pop-top lid into the wastebasket, to sever my hand if I tried to rearrange the trash more compactly!

6 comments:

River said...

Most of that is just typical man behaviour, but now that you know there is a sharp edged lid in the trash, you might want to use a potato masher to compact it instead of your hand. My ex used to complain "I can't find my cup" because I'd hung it on its hook in clear sight instead of leaving it on the bench where he expected it to be.

Hillbilly Mom said...

River,
They definitely lack the ability to find things that are in the proper place!

I got the lid out of the trash while I could see it, and set it on the counter until Farmer H brought the can back. Then I put the lid inside, as it should be!

River said...

I do that with the lids too.

Hillbilly Mom said...

River,
It's common sense! Which we all know that Farmer H lacks. In the can, that lid can't cut anybody, and can't slice a hole in the trash bag. If I had left it where he tossed it, Farmer H might have severed a leg artery when carrying out the trash! He does himself no favors.

Kathy's Klothesline said...

I know! They act like they just arrived to the house for the very first time, then hammer you with questions about whre things are. I always ask "who are you and what have you done with the man that lives here?".

Hillbilly Mom said...

Kathy,
They're like a shorter-term Rip Van Winkle. They fell asleep, and everything in the house switched places before they woke up.