Farmer
H cannot deny the parentage of Genius and The Pony. Not that he'd want
to. They've done plenty to make him proud. Of course, that was through
traits they inherited from Mrs. HM! They also exhibit tendencies that
could only have come from Farmer H himself. Remember "The Great POT
Controversy?" How Genius did not follow through in putting away Mrs.
HM's pots he used to brew up a batch of beer?
The Pony also has a controversy.
Friday,
I took The Pony to buy some shoes. While we were in Bill-Paying Town,
he said he'd like to have Captain D's for lunch. That solved my dinner
dilemma. It was already after 2:00, so I decreed that The Pony could
indeed have Captain D's, and that it would act as his Lupper.
Lunch-supper. Then I wouldn't have to cook when I got home, and we could
get something for Farmer H to eat before he left for the auction.
Farmer
H chose a Giant Fish Sandwich. The Pony had Fish & Fries, plus 4
breadsticks. I had a Fish & Chicken Dinner, taken home to eat when I
had all my upstairsly duties completed.
At the time I
descended to my lair, thankfully with the strong legs of The Pony to
carry down my tray and magical elixir, Farmer H was not yet home. The
Pony had eaten his meal in T-Hoe on the drive home. He had left two hush
puppies.
"I'll leave these hush puppies for Dad."
I took them out of the foam container, threw it away, and left the two hush puppies on a stack of napkins, on the cutting block.
Saturday
morning, with Farmer H away at his Storage Unit Store, I noticed the
stack of napkins (greasy from the hush puppies), still on the cutting
block.
"That's just like your dad! Eat the hush
puppies, but leave the napkins there for ME to throw away! I can't
believe him! As if anybody is going to want those greasy napkins! He
can't throw ANYTHING away! He's such a hoarder! It's getting worse and
worse! I'm so sick of--"
"Mom. Dad didn't eat the hush puppies."
"Then where are they?"
"Thrown away."
"That's even worse! To throw away the hush puppies, but leave the napkins!"
I
went off to town for my 44 oz Diet Coke. When I came back, I rushed
around to make a deep dish Chef Boyardee pizza for The Pony and Farmer
H. The Pony loves the breadiness of the crust. I make it whenever he
comes home. The Pony helped me get things ready, by handing me bowls and
vegetable oil and opening the can of sauce that came with the pizza
kit. I'm pretty sure he was just helping in order to get to that sauce
can sooner. Like some kids lick the bowl after cake batter is poured,
The Pony gets a serving spoon to scrap the dregs of pizza sauce from the
can.
Anyhoo...after he'd retired to the living room
with his can of sauce (don't get me started), I noticed that the napkins
were gone from the cutting block.
"Well. I guess Dad finally threw away his napkins."
"I did that while you were gone. When I came in to get water."
"Oh. Thank you for throwing away Dad's napkins."
"Um..."
Farmer H was sitting in the La-Z-Boy, having come home while I was away.
"I can't believe you threw away the hush puppies, and left the napkins!"
"I didn't throw away any hush puppies. I just ate my fish sandwich."
Then
it dawned on me. The Pony had either thrown away those hush puppies, or
decided to eat them himself. HE was the one who'd left the greasy
napkins on the cutting block. And let me blame Farmer H for several
hours, until he sensed that his crime was slowly being uncovered.
We'll call this one "The HushED Puppy Conspiracy."
Tuesday, December 31, 2019
Monday, December 30, 2019
When The STEVENing Comes Before The EVENing, Part 3
Waterlogged medicine, overclogged mail, germ-flogged ATM screen, and hogged parking lot did not deter Even Steven in the end.
Our last stop was Country Mart. I'd cashed in a good day's winnings when I got my 44 oz Diet Coke at the Gas Station Chicken Store, and pocketed the money to play elsewhere. Country Mart's machines had been my plan since before we left the Mansion.
Of course I had to park way down at the end. When I stepped through the door, BOTH lottery machines were occupied. I stepped right, to wait on the left machine. An old lady was putting in her money. I figured she would be done sooner than the couple at the right side machine. As it was, they finished at the same time, and reached an impasse at the door. The old lady surged ahead at the last moment.
I put in a bill and got my tickets. Because I'd been discombobulated by both machines being taken, I absentmindedly put in the next bill, which I'd intended for the right side machine. Sweet Gummi Mary! Now I was stuck spending it. No change from the lottery machine. I made my selections, and then took the small bill, the one I'd been intending to spend to get The Pony a ticket, into the right side machine.
Once outside, I informed The Pony of my ticket faux pas. I fanned out the selections so he could choose. He did not hesitate. Took the Power 5 blue ticket. First scratch, he exclaimed,
"I WON $25!"
Good for him.
It was much later that night when I had time to scratch my tickets. Well. What a fine turn of events. Even Steven knew it was time for EVENing out my day!
Four more winners from that left side machine! A $5, a $10, a $15, a $15. That's $45 more dollars of winning, plus The Pony's $25 winner!
It was worth the inconvenience of the STEVENing to get to the eventual EVENing.
Our last stop was Country Mart. I'd cashed in a good day's winnings when I got my 44 oz Diet Coke at the Gas Station Chicken Store, and pocketed the money to play elsewhere. Country Mart's machines had been my plan since before we left the Mansion.
Of course I had to park way down at the end. When I stepped through the door, BOTH lottery machines were occupied. I stepped right, to wait on the left machine. An old lady was putting in her money. I figured she would be done sooner than the couple at the right side machine. As it was, they finished at the same time, and reached an impasse at the door. The old lady surged ahead at the last moment.
I put in a bill and got my tickets. Because I'd been discombobulated by both machines being taken, I absentmindedly put in the next bill, which I'd intended for the right side machine. Sweet Gummi Mary! Now I was stuck spending it. No change from the lottery machine. I made my selections, and then took the small bill, the one I'd been intending to spend to get The Pony a ticket, into the right side machine.
Once outside, I informed The Pony of my ticket faux pas. I fanned out the selections so he could choose. He did not hesitate. Took the Power 5 blue ticket. First scratch, he exclaimed,
"I WON $25!"
Good for him.
It was much later that night when I had time to scratch my tickets. Well. What a fine turn of events. Even Steven knew it was time for EVENing out my day!
Four more winners from that left side machine! A $5, a $10, a $15, a $15. That's $45 more dollars of winning, plus The Pony's $25 winner!
It was worth the inconvenience of the STEVENing to get to the eventual EVENing.
Sunday, December 29, 2019
When The STEVENing Comes Before The EVENing, Part 2
After narrowly avoiding drinking an entire bubba cup of ice water and licking the bottom, to make sure I got all my medication...I headed toward the dead mouse smelling post office, with The Pony riding shotgun. I didn't plan to go inside. Only to mail the payment I'd just written out for A-Cad. The drive-up mailbox was good enough.
"This mail just went out an hour ago, but this one will go out tomorrow, anyway."
I listened for my envelope to hit the bottom. I can't imagine many people had driven up to mail things over the last hour. But I DID NOT hear my envelope hit the bottom! In fact, I didn't even hear it slide down the neck of the mailbox. I reached my hand through the snout section.
I COULD FEEL MY ENVELOPE!
I shoved it more. It's like that mailbox was full to the top! Just when I thought it was safe to mail things there again. It gets picked up at 11:00 a.m. This was December 27. Even if that crew worked a night shift, and had their December 25 holiday a day later...this was December 27! That mail should have gone out at 11:00 a.m.!
Great. Better not lose my A-Cad payment! I would have pulled that letter back out if I could, and driven it over to the main post office in Sis Town.
What else could go wrong? Well. Plenty.
I got to the bank, and had to wait 10 minutes at the drive-up ATM. Only two trucks ahead of me. But they've changed out that ATM in the wall. Maybe it shorted more people than just ME a $20 bill! Anyhoo...I don't like the set-up of this one. Mainly because I don't like things to change. This one is all on-screen touch stuff. The old one had options on the keypad, too.
Here's the thing. Those touch-pad thingies don't like me. Sometimes, my own phone refuses to recognize my touch. I put in my card, and touched the option to withdraw cash. But then it wouldn't recognize my finger. Nor thumb. Nor finger after rubbing it to warm it up. I was stuck. No way to stop the transaction. No way to proceed. I had to get something on that screen to respond to my touch.
I LICKED MY THUMB AND TOUCHED THE SCREEN!
Yes. I fully realize that I was licking a germ from every other person who ever touched that ATM screen! I had no other option. I hope it wasn't Typhoid Larry in the truck ahead of me.
That debacle out of the way, The Pony and I proceeded through the drive-thru canopy. Our exit to the street was blocked by cars backed up from the light. So I went out the back alley, as I usually do. Beside the church, at the little STOP sign, The Pony said,
"You don't have to go all the way to the end of the alley. Cut across the church lot."
"But their signs say NO TRESPASSING. I'm pretty sure they have cameras around. I never go across their lot."
"They won't know. OOPS! I guess they WILL! You'd better not cut across today!"
A man had just come out of the side door of the church, carrying a bag of trash to his truck. He gave us the stink-eye, even though we were stopped at the STOP sign in the alley, and not on the church lot. I continued to the end of the alley. Going about a quarter-mile out of our way to get back out on the road.
At least the shoe-buying portion of our trip passed without incident.
"This mail just went out an hour ago, but this one will go out tomorrow, anyway."
I listened for my envelope to hit the bottom. I can't imagine many people had driven up to mail things over the last hour. But I DID NOT hear my envelope hit the bottom! In fact, I didn't even hear it slide down the neck of the mailbox. I reached my hand through the snout section.
I COULD FEEL MY ENVELOPE!
I shoved it more. It's like that mailbox was full to the top! Just when I thought it was safe to mail things there again. It gets picked up at 11:00 a.m. This was December 27. Even if that crew worked a night shift, and had their December 25 holiday a day later...this was December 27! That mail should have gone out at 11:00 a.m.!
Great. Better not lose my A-Cad payment! I would have pulled that letter back out if I could, and driven it over to the main post office in Sis Town.
What else could go wrong? Well. Plenty.
I got to the bank, and had to wait 10 minutes at the drive-up ATM. Only two trucks ahead of me. But they've changed out that ATM in the wall. Maybe it shorted more people than just ME a $20 bill! Anyhoo...I don't like the set-up of this one. Mainly because I don't like things to change. This one is all on-screen touch stuff. The old one had options on the keypad, too.
Here's the thing. Those touch-pad thingies don't like me. Sometimes, my own phone refuses to recognize my touch. I put in my card, and touched the option to withdraw cash. But then it wouldn't recognize my finger. Nor thumb. Nor finger after rubbing it to warm it up. I was stuck. No way to stop the transaction. No way to proceed. I had to get something on that screen to respond to my touch.
I LICKED MY THUMB AND TOUCHED THE SCREEN!
Yes. I fully realize that I was licking a germ from every other person who ever touched that ATM screen! I had no other option. I hope it wasn't Typhoid Larry in the truck ahead of me.
That debacle out of the way, The Pony and I proceeded through the drive-thru canopy. Our exit to the street was blocked by cars backed up from the light. So I went out the back alley, as I usually do. Beside the church, at the little STOP sign, The Pony said,
"You don't have to go all the way to the end of the alley. Cut across the church lot."
"But their signs say NO TRESPASSING. I'm pretty sure they have cameras around. I never go across their lot."
"They won't know. OOPS! I guess they WILL! You'd better not cut across today!"
A man had just come out of the side door of the church, carrying a bag of trash to his truck. He gave us the stink-eye, even though we were stopped at the STOP sign in the alley, and not on the church lot. I continued to the end of the alley. Going about a quarter-mile out of our way to get back out on the road.
At least the shoe-buying portion of our trip passed without incident.
Saturday, December 28, 2019
When The STEVENing Comes Before The EVENing, Part 1
You know things are not off to a good start when the most basic of your routines throws you a curve ball. Or rolls you a curve pill.
Friday morning, I had plans to take The Pony shoe-shopping. He said he didn't really NEED shoes. But with no idea what to get him for Christmas, and him being a state-and-a-half away, I wanted to provide for him.
With Farmer H out of the Mansion on his usual Friday schedule of Storage Unit Store (yes, even on DECEMBER 27), lunch, doctor, and old-man fat-chewing, we didn't have to worry about rising at the crack of dawn. I slept until 10:15, and headed to the kitchen for my morning medicine.
I take three pills. The first, for my missing thyroid, I take standing at the sink. It requires a full glass of water. The other two are a heart-slower and for blood pressure. I generally take them 30 to 60 minutes later. I carry them into the living room in the palm of my hand. I'm very careful. I make sure my hand is not wet. I put my cell phone and some Puffs Plus Lotion in my shirt pocket, so as not to interfere with my pill hand. I pick up the house phone and carry it in my other hand.
Once in the living room, I set down my other stuff, then put my two pills on the top of my yellow bubba cup of ice water. It has been left on the table beside the La-Z-Boy in my trek from bed to bathroom to kitchen. I've done this for three years now. No incidents. I don't forget to take the meds, because they're right there beside me as I peruse the innernets on HIPPIE. And my water is there for the swigging, to wash them down.
Friday morning, I put my two pills on the lid of my yellow bubba cup. The tiny orange blood pressure pill laid there like it was supposed to. The white, aspirin-size, heart-slowing pill decided to land on its edge, and roll around the rim like one of those crazy gumballs in a spiral machine. Or a coin in one of those funnel-shaped contraptions they have at The Science Center. Around it went, right to the opening where the straw fits in. It's a thick straw. Takes up most of that hole. MOST.
MY HEART-SLOWING PILL FELL INTO MY YELLOW BUBBA CUP OF ICE WATER!
Well! That made my heart stop! Momentarily. Then it started pounding. What was I going to do? I would be short one pill!
In reality, nothing much would probably happen, because I get refills a few days before I run out. So that missing pill wouldn't really be missing unless I ran completely out. Still. I was all panicky about it.
I rushed to the kitchen counter. I pried the lid off Yellow Bubba, but didn't see my pill. How long can a pill last in a cup of water, anyway? I ripped the lid off Purple Bubba, empty all night, and poured my water and ice into him. There, at the bottom of Yellow Bubba, kind of stuck at the edge, was my pill!
I pried it loose, and put it in a foam bowl. Blew on it to stop it from dissolving. It still had pretty much of its shape. I put the straw and lid on Purple Bubba, and went back to the La-Z-Boy. About a half hour had gone by since taking that thyroid med. I'd been writing out a check, and getting stuff ready for my shoe-shopping trip.
I took my waterlogged pill. It was still in one piece. It's an extended-release pill. The Pony, once out of bed, assured me that it was probably all right. Almost the same as if I was swallowing it, and it got stuck to my throat, waiting for another slurp of water.
Good thing it wasn't a capsule!
Friday morning, I had plans to take The Pony shoe-shopping. He said he didn't really NEED shoes. But with no idea what to get him for Christmas, and him being a state-and-a-half away, I wanted to provide for him.
With Farmer H out of the Mansion on his usual Friday schedule of Storage Unit Store (yes, even on DECEMBER 27), lunch, doctor, and old-man fat-chewing, we didn't have to worry about rising at the crack of dawn. I slept until 10:15, and headed to the kitchen for my morning medicine.
I take three pills. The first, for my missing thyroid, I take standing at the sink. It requires a full glass of water. The other two are a heart-slower and for blood pressure. I generally take them 30 to 60 minutes later. I carry them into the living room in the palm of my hand. I'm very careful. I make sure my hand is not wet. I put my cell phone and some Puffs Plus Lotion in my shirt pocket, so as not to interfere with my pill hand. I pick up the house phone and carry it in my other hand.
Once in the living room, I set down my other stuff, then put my two pills on the top of my yellow bubba cup of ice water. It has been left on the table beside the La-Z-Boy in my trek from bed to bathroom to kitchen. I've done this for three years now. No incidents. I don't forget to take the meds, because they're right there beside me as I peruse the innernets on HIPPIE. And my water is there for the swigging, to wash them down.
Friday morning, I put my two pills on the lid of my yellow bubba cup. The tiny orange blood pressure pill laid there like it was supposed to. The white, aspirin-size, heart-slowing pill decided to land on its edge, and roll around the rim like one of those crazy gumballs in a spiral machine. Or a coin in one of those funnel-shaped contraptions they have at The Science Center. Around it went, right to the opening where the straw fits in. It's a thick straw. Takes up most of that hole. MOST.
MY HEART-SLOWING PILL FELL INTO MY YELLOW BUBBA CUP OF ICE WATER!
Well! That made my heart stop! Momentarily. Then it started pounding. What was I going to do? I would be short one pill!
In reality, nothing much would probably happen, because I get refills a few days before I run out. So that missing pill wouldn't really be missing unless I ran completely out. Still. I was all panicky about it.
I rushed to the kitchen counter. I pried the lid off Yellow Bubba, but didn't see my pill. How long can a pill last in a cup of water, anyway? I ripped the lid off Purple Bubba, empty all night, and poured my water and ice into him. There, at the bottom of Yellow Bubba, kind of stuck at the edge, was my pill!
I pried it loose, and put it in a foam bowl. Blew on it to stop it from dissolving. It still had pretty much of its shape. I put the straw and lid on Purple Bubba, and went back to the La-Z-Boy. About a half hour had gone by since taking that thyroid med. I'd been writing out a check, and getting stuff ready for my shoe-shopping trip.
I took my waterlogged pill. It was still in one piece. It's an extended-release pill. The Pony, once out of bed, assured me that it was probably all right. Almost the same as if I was swallowing it, and it got stuck to my throat, waiting for another slurp of water.
Good thing it wasn't a capsule!
Friday, December 27, 2019
The Tree Bends Over Backwards To Protect The Apple That Doesn't Fall Far From It
With Genius and The Pony home for a few days, I remembered what I DON'T miss about having them around.
Cold showers.
Feeding them.
Sticky floor.
Picking up.
Let's dwell on the PICKING UP theme today. You'd think that someone old enough to drink homemade wine (given to Farmer H by a casual friend who quit drinking) would be able to throw away his used red Solo cup when finished. But no! That is MY JOB!
You'd think that if you use a paper towel (for what, I don't know, since it obviously wasn't to wipe up a mess), you'd understand that it should be put in the wastebasket, not on the cutting block two feet away.
But here's the biggest violation. Get ready to be outraged, fellow picker-uppers!
Genius gave Farmer H a beer-making kit for Christmas. It's a clever gift, and something they could do together, although it would have been nicer if they had more time. Anyhoo...Genius decreed that Farmer H should unwrap his gift on Christmas Eve afternoon. They set about their brewing around 1:30. In fact, they squeezed me out of my own kitchen as I was trying to prepare a plate of leftovers for my lunch. We were due at Sis's house by 6:00 for her Christmas Eve dinner.
Genius rifled through my lower cabinets, looking for three large pots. He'd bought a large strainer and other accoutrements at The Devil's Playground. I told him he'd need to make sure those pots got put back, because I cannot get down on my knees and sort through the pans in the lower cabinets. He assured me that he would wash those pots, and return them as they were.
You know what happened, right? After boiling hops and wheat and assorted beery things, Genius DID wash the pots. Meaning, he gave that task to Friend, who did a good job of it. They set them on top of the stove (not like we'd be using that area to warm leftovers or make breakfast or anything) to finish air-drying.
Christmas Day, Genius and Friend were packing up all their stuff to go spend a few days with Friend's parents, then fly off west for a ski trip. My pots were still sitting on the stove.
"Genius, when you have time, I'd like you to put these pots back in the cabinet before you head out." Just a reminder, you know. In case he forgot.
WELL! You'd think I'd asked the cardiologist to clip my toenails! (That actually happened with my grandpa and his wife.) Farmer H got all snotty with me. Not so much in words, but with THAT LOOK of his. Obviously, nobody at Kellerman's puts Baby in a corner, and nobody in Hillmomba asks Genius to put away pots!
Farmer H got up off the short couch, stormed into the kitchen, and put those pots away himself. I don't really think he got them all three in the right place, but the two I use most were correct.
Sorry, but I can't believe a 25-year-old, whose career is programming a driverless car, is incapable of returning three pots to their proper location.
Cold showers.
Feeding them.
Sticky floor.
Picking up.
Let's dwell on the PICKING UP theme today. You'd think that someone old enough to drink homemade wine (given to Farmer H by a casual friend who quit drinking) would be able to throw away his used red Solo cup when finished. But no! That is MY JOB!
You'd think that if you use a paper towel (for what, I don't know, since it obviously wasn't to wipe up a mess), you'd understand that it should be put in the wastebasket, not on the cutting block two feet away.
But here's the biggest violation. Get ready to be outraged, fellow picker-uppers!
Genius gave Farmer H a beer-making kit for Christmas. It's a clever gift, and something they could do together, although it would have been nicer if they had more time. Anyhoo...Genius decreed that Farmer H should unwrap his gift on Christmas Eve afternoon. They set about their brewing around 1:30. In fact, they squeezed me out of my own kitchen as I was trying to prepare a plate of leftovers for my lunch. We were due at Sis's house by 6:00 for her Christmas Eve dinner.
Genius rifled through my lower cabinets, looking for three large pots. He'd bought a large strainer and other accoutrements at The Devil's Playground. I told him he'd need to make sure those pots got put back, because I cannot get down on my knees and sort through the pans in the lower cabinets. He assured me that he would wash those pots, and return them as they were.
You know what happened, right? After boiling hops and wheat and assorted beery things, Genius DID wash the pots. Meaning, he gave that task to Friend, who did a good job of it. They set them on top of the stove (not like we'd be using that area to warm leftovers or make breakfast or anything) to finish air-drying.
Christmas Day, Genius and Friend were packing up all their stuff to go spend a few days with Friend's parents, then fly off west for a ski trip. My pots were still sitting on the stove.
"Genius, when you have time, I'd like you to put these pots back in the cabinet before you head out." Just a reminder, you know. In case he forgot.
WELL! You'd think I'd asked the cardiologist to clip my toenails! (That actually happened with my grandpa and his wife.) Farmer H got all snotty with me. Not so much in words, but with THAT LOOK of his. Obviously, nobody at Kellerman's puts Baby in a corner, and nobody in Hillmomba asks Genius to put away pots!
Farmer H got up off the short couch, stormed into the kitchen, and put those pots away himself. I don't really think he got them all three in the right place, but the two I use most were correct.
Sorry, but I can't believe a 25-year-old, whose career is programming a driverless car, is incapable of returning three pots to their proper location.
Thursday, December 26, 2019
Disgruntled Chef, Or Farmer H Plot?
When we got back to the Mansion with The Pony on Thursday, I was in the throes of cooking our Christmas dinner, which was scheduled for Saturday evening. Friday was a whirlwind of roasting and deviling and salading and casseroling and baking. As you might imagine, slothful Mrs. HM did not want to whip up supper for Farmer H and The Pony.
The Pony said he'd like to have Chinese food for supper, so Farmer H swung by there on his way home from carousing all day and pointedly not-helping get the feast ready. According to Farmer H, there were several phoned-in orders ahead of him. That's understandable for a Friday night. Farmer H said food kept going out the door, yet he saw no sign of our order being prepared. He went to the counter several times to inquire. You might imagine how well that went over.
Anyhoo...The Pony had Sweet & Sour Chicken, Farmer H had Hunan Chicken, and I had Hunan Pork. The Pony was nearly done with his supper when I came out to the living room after a much-delayed shower. Farmer H was at the kitchen counter, mumbling that his food didn't look like chicken. He opened mine, I presumed from glancing at his back shielding the containers, and declared that no, this one wasn't chicken more than the previous container.
Farmer put his dinner ON A PLATE, after I'd spent all day cooking and washing up two sinks of dishes as I went along. Seriously. My kitchen was pristine, yet now I'd have a greasy plate to wash later that night, or first thing on the day of our Christmas dinner. The point being that within arm's reach was a stack of sturdy cardboard-paper-plates. Sweet Gummi Mary! Is Farmer H so hoity-toity that he can't eat his carry-out Chinese food on a sturdy paper plate?
I left mine in the foam container. Not because I was making a snide point about dirty dishes, but because I did not feel like standing for one extra second to scrape out the contents onto a sturdy paper plate. When I got to my dark basement lair, and dug into my meal, I was surprised by the spiciness.
I know that HUNAN is spicy. It's usually just right. I often separate out some of the black pepper beans to tame it. This time, I was weak with hunger, having subsisted all day on two slices of bacon stolen from the 7 Layer Salad, and a torn egg white used to scoop the clinging deviled egg filling from the side of the bowl before washing. I didn't have the time nor the energy to sort through my Hunan Pork.
But I DID. While sitting in front of New Delly. It was that, or have my head explode in a fireball. Look at how many black pepper beans I found in my Hunan Pork!
That, my friends, is excessive pepperage! That's about 1/4 of the meal! Made of black pepper beans! When I went back upstairs, I asked Farmer H if his Hunan Chicken was extra spicy this time.
"No. Not really. About the same."
"Did it have a lot of black pepper beans?"
"Not that I noticed."
"Well, mine was FULL of them! They must have put all the peppers in the pork, and not many in the chicken."
Here's the thing. Did that Chinese chef put all the black pepper beans in one dinner, to get even with Farmer H for daring to inquire as to the readiness of his order (several times)? Or did Farmer H take some peppers out of his meal and put them into mine while I was still in the shower?
I tend to think the former. Because even though Farmer H would probably not pass up an attempt to kill me, he's pretty lazy about picking things out of food, unless it's GREEN peppers, which he despises.
The Pony said he'd like to have Chinese food for supper, so Farmer H swung by there on his way home from carousing all day and pointedly not-helping get the feast ready. According to Farmer H, there were several phoned-in orders ahead of him. That's understandable for a Friday night. Farmer H said food kept going out the door, yet he saw no sign of our order being prepared. He went to the counter several times to inquire. You might imagine how well that went over.
Anyhoo...The Pony had Sweet & Sour Chicken, Farmer H had Hunan Chicken, and I had Hunan Pork. The Pony was nearly done with his supper when I came out to the living room after a much-delayed shower. Farmer H was at the kitchen counter, mumbling that his food didn't look like chicken. He opened mine, I presumed from glancing at his back shielding the containers, and declared that no, this one wasn't chicken more than the previous container.
Farmer put his dinner ON A PLATE, after I'd spent all day cooking and washing up two sinks of dishes as I went along. Seriously. My kitchen was pristine, yet now I'd have a greasy plate to wash later that night, or first thing on the day of our Christmas dinner. The point being that within arm's reach was a stack of sturdy cardboard-paper-plates. Sweet Gummi Mary! Is Farmer H so hoity-toity that he can't eat his carry-out Chinese food on a sturdy paper plate?
I left mine in the foam container. Not because I was making a snide point about dirty dishes, but because I did not feel like standing for one extra second to scrape out the contents onto a sturdy paper plate. When I got to my dark basement lair, and dug into my meal, I was surprised by the spiciness.
I know that HUNAN is spicy. It's usually just right. I often separate out some of the black pepper beans to tame it. This time, I was weak with hunger, having subsisted all day on two slices of bacon stolen from the 7 Layer Salad, and a torn egg white used to scoop the clinging deviled egg filling from the side of the bowl before washing. I didn't have the time nor the energy to sort through my Hunan Pork.
But I DID. While sitting in front of New Delly. It was that, or have my head explode in a fireball. Look at how many black pepper beans I found in my Hunan Pork!
"No. Not really. About the same."
"Did it have a lot of black pepper beans?"
"Not that I noticed."
"Well, mine was FULL of them! They must have put all the peppers in the pork, and not many in the chicken."
Here's the thing. Did that Chinese chef put all the black pepper beans in one dinner, to get even with Farmer H for daring to inquire as to the readiness of his order (several times)? Or did Farmer H take some peppers out of his meal and put them into mine while I was still in the shower?
I tend to think the former. Because even though Farmer H would probably not pass up an attempt to kill me, he's pretty lazy about picking things out of food, unless it's GREEN peppers, which he despises.
Wednesday, December 25, 2019
A PsychoSoda Christmas At The Mansion
With The Pony and Genius and Friend here at the Mansion for the Christmas holidays, Farmer H and I laid in a supply of beverages. Our guests are not ones to drink Diet Mountain Dew and Diet Coke. We had some Sprite for The Pony, and some real Coke for mixing with Jack Daniels. Genius and Friend mainly drink water, unless they're imbibing their alcohol.
Anyhoo...I'd been hinting for a couple days that this soda needed to be taken down to the mini fridge in the basement. There was barely enough room for all the food in FRIG II. Of course my hints fell on deaf ears. Finally, Farmer H took it upon himself to chill the soft drinks.
Imagine my surprise when I opened the door of the mini fridge for my knee ice, and saw
SODA BUTTS!
Sweet Gummi Mary! What in the NOT-HEAVEN? Who stocks a mini fridge this way? Let me answer for you: A DANG PSYCHO! That's who!
Why would you shove the soda in head first? Nobody wants to grapple with a soda butt when going to fetch a beverage. If the lids face out, you can grab a couple, by fitting your fingers around the narrow tops. Not so with the wide butts. Unless you've got the ginormous hands of a professional football quarterback, you can only get ONE. If you have several brands of cola, or other dark soda like root beer, or Dr. Pepper, you can't tell what you're getting unless you've memorized the shapes of the butts of each brand.
As you can clearly see, the Diet Coke that I put in for myself is an example that Farmer H could have followed. But no. Farmer H has to re-invent the wheel every time he does a job that many people would assign a toddler.
Once again, Farmer H proves that if you want a job done right, do it yourself. Or ask anyone other than Farmer H. Who swore this method was perfectly normal, little chuckle, the way MOST people stock their soda.
I'd think he was doing it on purpose so as not to be tasked with such a difficult chore ever again. But I'm not sure Farmer H's mind thinks that far ahead.
Anyhoo...I'd been hinting for a couple days that this soda needed to be taken down to the mini fridge in the basement. There was barely enough room for all the food in FRIG II. Of course my hints fell on deaf ears. Finally, Farmer H took it upon himself to chill the soft drinks.
Imagine my surprise when I opened the door of the mini fridge for my knee ice, and saw
Sweet Gummi Mary! What in the NOT-HEAVEN? Who stocks a mini fridge this way? Let me answer for you: A DANG PSYCHO! That's who!
Why would you shove the soda in head first? Nobody wants to grapple with a soda butt when going to fetch a beverage. If the lids face out, you can grab a couple, by fitting your fingers around the narrow tops. Not so with the wide butts. Unless you've got the ginormous hands of a professional football quarterback, you can only get ONE. If you have several brands of cola, or other dark soda like root beer, or Dr. Pepper, you can't tell what you're getting unless you've memorized the shapes of the butts of each brand.
As you can clearly see, the Diet Coke that I put in for myself is an example that Farmer H could have followed. But no. Farmer H has to re-invent the wheel every time he does a job that many people would assign a toddler.
Once again, Farmer H proves that if you want a job done right, do it yourself. Or ask anyone other than Farmer H. Who swore this method was perfectly normal, little chuckle, the way MOST people stock their soda.
I'd think he was doing it on purpose so as not to be tasked with such a difficult chore ever again. But I'm not sure Farmer H's mind thinks that far ahead.
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