Gandering And Goosing

What's good for the goose is too much for the gander. That's what Farmer H seems to think. No matter how many times I tell him how to get his supper from pan to plate, he strives to do the opposite. Why should HE care about making my life easier? He's not the one who's washed dishes by hand for the past 37 years of this marriage. Why do a couple of simple things to help me out? 

I know I've enlightened you on how Farmer H likes to hold his plate in the left hand, and use his right to fish food from pans on the stove while holding them in place with his belly. I had no idea it was so hard to set down a plate, and use one hand to hold a pan, and the other to move food directly onto that stationary plate. No belly needed!

SWEET GUMMI MARY! You'd think I asked Farmer H to go out in the field, rope a steer, butcher it, grind it up, and bake his own meatloaf! Which is what he was having for supper, along with biscuits and stuffing. I cook everything, you know. Make sure it is hot, then call Farmer H to the kitchen to make his plate. In this case, a yellow school lunch tray. Not such a tasking task.

In previous days, Farmer H was eating the BBQ pork steaks and bratwursts, along with potatoes/onions from our Memorial Day grilling. Plus stuffing that I made for him, The Pony having taken home that leftover.

Every time I set out Farmer H's tray with silverware and a paper towel, I point out that messy food should not go into the section that's a square with a circle in it. Like for setting a glass. I don't like the extra scrubbing it takes to get messy food from the crevices.

For at least 30 years, I instructed Farmer H every time. And every time, he does what he wants. Such as going for the meat first, to put it on his tray like somebody is going to steal it from the pan as soon as it comes out of the oven. Plopping a pork steak in the large section, then a bare sausage in a round section, waiting until last to put that dang sausage on a bun! When the pack of buns was put on top of his tray, handy to take one out, then fork a sausage right into it. Where it could easily sit in that square section and not leave a mess.

THEN Farmer H chased the potatoes/onions around the foiled pizza pan upon which they had been warmed, scooping them up with a fork, and his thumb on top of a few slices, while holding his tray of meats in his left hand. Of course I said something, because Farmer H was only wearing tighty-whities after his shower, and that pan was HOT, and scooting all around the front burner as he tried to fork the potatoes/onions. He didn't need to be branded on his bare belly.

Farmer H took offense to my suggestion that he set down that tray, and let me pick up the pizza pan so he could scoot the potatoes/onions over the foiled edge. OR use the spatula that was lying RIGHT THERE to scoop up more than a couple potatoes at a time. Just as he took offense when I mentioned the same thing when he tried to pick up a giant slab of meatloaf with his fork underneath one end, and his thumb ready to clamp onto the ketchup-ed top.

Oh, and of course he was dumping those potatoes/onions into the forbidden square. Which he also did the next evening with the stuffing, rather than use it for a biscuit.

I can't believe a grown man can be so stupid when it comes to a simple task like moving food from a pan to a plate. And be unable to follow a 30-year-old, daily-repeated request. But there's your evidence that it's possible. His name is Farmer H.