The Pony Gifts Us With A Christmas Monkey Wrench

Genius is coming for Christmas! Plans were solidified on Tuesday evening. The days he will arrive, attend the party of my sister the ex-mayor's wife, show up at the Mansion for dinner, and partake of the annual holiday casino trip.

I informed The Pony on Wednesday morning. Who tossed a little monkey wrench into the plans. We know that The Pony has to work on Christmas Eve. Late. But usually makes it to Sis's soiree. He's off Christmas Day. Since Tuesday is his regular day off, it fit right in for the casino trip before Genius departs for Pittsburgh. Not anymore!

The Pony is getting his own route. He's been a regular for quite some time now, but has not bid on specific routes because he does not like the vehicle assigned to it, or the businesses to which it delivers, or the general locale. So he's been earning regular pay, but taking routes that are assigned to him. Sometimes for weeks, sometimes days.

Anyhoo... The Pony bid on a route that suits his preferences, and as the unassigned regular with most seniority, will most likely be awarded that route permanently. It's virtually a done deal, but without a specific date when it is officially on the books. The catch is... the day off is WEDNESDAY.  

The Pony is pretty sure Wednesday will be his official weekly day off by the time Christmas gets here. Which presents a dilemma. Go on the casino trip without The Pony. Or see if Genius can delay his departure by one day.

I think we can get it worked out over the next month. Poor Pony missed the casino trip two years ago, due to work. He was able to go last year, and we all had a great time. Genius would like some down time once he gets back, to relax for the remainder of his vacation. It's a difficult decision. I imagine there will be several discussions by text, with me being the middlewoman.

The Further Transgressions Of Farmer H

Sometimes, Farmer H annoys me. Yes. I see you all, turning to each other, shrugging, palms to the sky, muttering, "Who woulda thought..."

I can hold in my peevishness for a little while. It takes a lot of effort. And then my nerves of steel snap like Young Future Mrs. HM's ulna when she took a tumble roller-skating on the sidewalk around her grandpa's fireplace.

"WHY DON'T YOU JUST LICK THE BOWL!!!"

Farmer H is a clinker. I shudder every time I serve something that is eaten in a bowl, using a spoon. Every single bite, Farmer H clinks the metal spoon against the glass bowl. Oh, and he eats with a serving spoon. So it's an extra-loud clink. This time, he was eating my vegetable beef soup. That clink carried, unmolested, not even muffled by the couch cushions and carpet, from recliner to the kitchen table, where I was listening to music while scratching lottery tickets, until Spotify went down.

Sweet Gummi Mary! Is it really necessary to clink each dip of the spoon? He sounded like he was trying to get a ballroom packed with wedding guests to pay attention for a toast. It was bad enough when he had just sat down, with a bowl full of soup. As you well know, it was solid soup. Though not a towering bowl. THEN, near the end, Farmer H was scraping the remaining particles of soup off the side, with the vigor required to remove barnacles from a ship's hull.

I might have been able to deal with this transgression, had Farmer H not already used up my good will (granted, it's about the size of a mustard seed, and could be worn in a see-through heart-shaped charm like the one I had in grade school) a few days earlier with his shenanigans of entitledness.

I came home Monday to find that Farmer H had poured his own drink during my absence, using MY Shasta Diet Cola from the second shelf of FRIG II. Farmer H's sodas are on the top shelf. Always have been. His Diet Mountain Dews, and this past week's Diet Cokes which he bought instead. Along with a can of Shasta Diet Cola that I put there for when he has a Wild Turkey. Never mind that our Shasta Diet Colas are identical. It's the principle, dang it! I want MY soda from my shelf. Not to reach into an empty space, and have to look around for it. He has his soda on his shelf. When pressed on the reason for his decision, Farmer H replied,

"I just took one when I saw it."

Oh, but that's not all! To accompany his cocktail, Farmer H had an individual bag of chips. He chose the plain chips with ridges. They're his favorite. I always leave them for him in the multi-pack of assorted chips. However... Farmer H opened the new multi-pack and removed his bag of chips. When there was one left from the old multi-pack with an expiration date of December 4. It is only logical to use the older chips first. But no. Farmer H was entitled to the NEW chips.

"I figure I should be able to eat anything in my own house."

Yes. Anything thought of, put on a list, searched for on a shelf, purchased, bagged, loaded, unloaded, carried in, and put away by Mrs. HM.

The King of the Castle rules the Mansion. Mrs. HM just lives there out of his good graces.

One Down, Three To Go

A while back, I bemoaned the fact that I have been unable to find certain items in the new 10Box store that replaced Country Mart. Let the record show that on Monday, I found

MICROWAVE POPCORN!

Was it on the chip aisle, where I might have overlooked it? Nope! It was on the BREAD AISLE! Funny how I have been down the bread aisle several times, yet not actively seeking microwave popcorn there. So it went unnoticed by logical Mrs. HM. 

I was actually planning to ask the cashier, for future reference, when I walked by on the main front aisle, and happened to glance over at the bread aisle. That's because I originally thought I was going to get bread, but of course that's where three employees were congregating while one put bread loaves on the shelf from a big metal cart. I had decided we could go without a new loaf, and was just looking to see if the triumvirate had disassembled, when the bright orange of the Blast O' Butter popcorn box caught my eye. Yay, me!

Anyhoo... now I only have to discover where they're keeping the canned potatoes, Puffs With Lotion, and baby corns.

I might not even look for the potatoes, because on Tuesday, I'm making a pot of vegetable beef soup, and using frozen cubed hash brown potatoes. For once, Mrs. HM is able to think outside the can...

Santa Needs A New Pair Of Shoes

Farmer H is in demand during the holiday season. He's a Santa's helper for an early childhood program. He used to only don his gay apparel for the Parents As Teachers program, and an occasional daycare. He has been down to the one "client" for years, but got a call from one of her acquaintances last week requesting his (free) services.

"I don't mind to do it. I can't give out little presents to the other one, but I can show up and talk to the kids and hand out what she wants me to. I need to get a new pair of black boots. I can't bend my ankles to fit into my old ones. I want shiny black boots. Not the dull rubber ones."

Farmer H went to Tractor Supply on Sunday. I suppose he found what he wanted, since he gave me a receipt for $37.34 for "BOOT LDS WORK BU 10." Not sure exactly what that means...

Santa is a hick! He can use those boots during the off-season, for mucking out the reindeer stalls.

The Pony Goes With The Flow

The Pony has been dealing with the heavy load of mail after the Thanksgiving holiday. Some because the workers had a day off, and some because it's been Black Friday Week, with businesses offering early deals online. AND Cyber Monday is coming...

Anyhoo... The Pony has had some overtime. He clocked out at 6:00 on Saturday evening. Then saw something as he was leaving that might complicate matters even more.

"Water main break right between the post office and the library."

"I might have been the first to report it. Or, well, to tell the manager to, since I don't have the number."

I think that's one of their mail delivery trucks backed up at the loading dock. Not sure if this break will require the water to be shut off. That might be a problem for the bathrooms, and of course for the drinking water. Not sure if this will affect The Pony's house a few blocks away. That last break affected the post office, but not The Pony.

Still Living In A Man's World

Farmer H was kind of on his best behavior for Thanksgiving. However... he's still a man, living in a man's world. You know, that entitled world where other people, 99 percent of them being women, do things for you that you don't want to do, because it's beneath your station.

The Pony and I were still chatting and chowing down on our main courses when Farmer H finished and was ready for the first of his three desserts. He got up from the table and walked around the counter to get it out of FRIG II. But not before first shoving his empty plate and salad bowl down the table, to his left, and out of his way for dessert-feasting. Because, you know, carrying his empty plate and bowl to put beside the sink, or even setting them on that kitchen counter an arm's reach away, would have been a chore much too tedious for a MAN.

I was having none of that! As Farmer H got up to fetch his second dessert, I called him out.

"Uh. Why are you leaving your dirty dishes on the table for ME to fetch later? There's nothing wrong with your arms. Take them to the sink."

Farmer H grunted, which is his manner of showing how displeased he is with picking up after himself. But he took his plate to where it was supposed to rest and wait for me to wash it. Saving me (but more likely The Pony) the effort of transporting it.

For our supper of leftovers Friday night, I warmed the pan of roasted vegetables on the stove. I had the slotted spoon I'd been stirring it with laying on a paper plate next to it. Farmer H's plate had been set out on the cutting block, along with all silverware he might need. But he was in charge of getting the foods out of FRIG II to spoon out his portions, and warm in the microwave.

I was back at the kitchen table, out of his way, when Farmer H came to heat his meal. I turned to look just as he was up to something shady. He had placed his plate in the microwave, full of ham, hash brown casserole, and rolls. He closed the microwave door, and reached for the slotted spoon.

"Wait! What are you doing? Cover your plate so it doesn't spatter all over the microwave!"

"I was going to..."

"But you already closed the door. And you're holding the spoon for the vegetables."

"Well. I was going to use the plate you have the spoon on to cover my food."

"What then? Lay the greasy spoon on my counter, so I'll have to clean it?"

"No."

"So you were just going to hold the spoon until the microwave was done? I don't believe you. You just didn't want to lean over two feet and get another paper plate out of the holder."

"Whatever..."

Uh huh. Caught red-handed and one-paper-plated! Either way, he would have been making more cleanup work for me, whether it was microwave or counter. 

I really don't know how Farmer H's mind works. Other than overtime to make my life harder.

Mrs. HM Is Foiled Again By The Pony

I was lucky to have The Pony to help me during the last hour of Thanksgiving Dinner preparations. I had most things ready to go, due to prepping them on Wednesday. So they just needed to be slid into the oven, except for the 7 Layer Salad, which took two hours. 

I made sure to set out the Kerrygold butter so it would be warm enough to spread. I bought the big block, which fit on my butter dish on its side, but was twice as tall as it should be for the lid to fit. That didn't matter. I figured I'd wrap up what was left in the original gold foil wrapper. I folded its sides in, so as not to get butter on anything, and set that wrapper over on the counter by the stove, on top of the bag of onions that I keep there.

The Pony got everything else warmed up and set out, while I directed him from a comfortable sitting position at the kitchen table.

As we were finishing up the meal, I commented that I wished people had sliced their butter along the top of that block, rather than straight down, on the end.

"Then the lid to the butter dish would have fit on it. But that's okay. I'll just wrap it back up like I planned, if you can get me the wrapper."

"Um. What do you mean?"

"I put it over there on the counter."

"Wait! You wanted to save that? I threw it away."

"PONY!"

"I can get it out of the trash for you. It's on top."

"No! I'm not George Costanza eating an eclair off a doily on top of a magazine in his girlfriend's wastebasket." That reference was lost on The Pony, who was never a Seinfeld fan. But Genius would have caught on in an instant. Here's a 43 second clip on YouTube.  

"I thought it was trash! It was on the onions!"

"Did you throw away the onions? No. Why would I carry it AWAY from the wastebasket to put on the counter if it was trash?"

Anyhoo... I sliced the butter chunk horizontally, so it was short enough to have the cover on the dish. We had eaten enough that the two sections just fit, end to end. 

And The Pony reminded me:  "I did the same thing last year..."