Which Nobody Can Deny (Except This One Guy)

Did you ever know somebody who is so stubborn they will NEVER admit to the obvious? That's kind of a rhetorical question. Of course you do. He lives right here at the Mansion!

Tuesday evening, Farmer H had fired up GassyG Jr to grill some sausages. He came in to wash his hands. Whoopsie! Didn't mean to make you faint. He was actually washing off his BBQ tongs that hang on the grill. Not that they're any use for turning sausage patties, but he was washing them just the same. Said his spatula "wasn't dirty." Despite hanging on the side of the grill all this time with the tongs.

Anyhoo... it was quite a production. Rather than running some water in the sink, or just squirting dish detergent on those tongs to wash them... Farmer H used my Bath and Body Works soap that sits on the kitchen sink. Not the FREE detergent that he brought home a case of a couple years ago. He might as well have been a surgeon scrubbing up for surgery. He lathered up his forearms, hands, and the tongs. Then rinsed them under the stream of water he'd left running. Then shook them over the sink, and reached for a paper towel from the holder on the cutting block.

Farmer H walked to FRIG II to get out the sausage patties.

SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK

"Well. Now you've got water on the floor, tracking it across the kitchen. So dirty spots will start to show up as you traipse around."

"I didn't get no water on the floor."

"Those squeaks say different."

Farmer H came back to the sink. SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK. He ran his hands around the edge. 

"See? There ain't no water. I didn't splash nothin'."

"Then why do your shoes make that noise every time you take a step?"

"I don't know. Maybe my shoes just squeak."

Let the record show that Farmer H made no move to look at the floor, or drop a paper towel down to wipe up the water. Which you KNOW was there. He took the sausages outside, not looking back.

Who you gonna believe, Farmer H, or your lyin' ears?

The Helper Is Sometimes Not So Helpful

Farmer H has been better about carrying in groceries lately. Or maybe he's just informed me of his absenteeism better. A few times, I've known he wouldn't be home, and thus left some nonperishable items in T-Hoe for later, and only carried in what was necessary. After that shot of Kenalog in my right knee, it has not been as painful. That's not to say I'm ready to dance Swan Lake. But it's easier to walk on a flat surface without thinking that knee might collapse on any step.

Sometimes Farmer H carries things in, and sets all the bags on the cutting block, then disappears to his recliner. Other times, he will put some items away. Oh, not where they really go, of course. And usually it just makes more work for me. But I've seen it as a goodwill effort. I think that it's not what I assumed.

Farmer H is FORAGING! Looking for treats in those bags or boxes of groceries! I often bring him treats. Last week, he was taking his little pies with him to his SUS2.5 for lunches! He even took the last Party Cake pie, of which I had asked for a single bite when he opened it. Also, he took a bag of cookies that I'd just bought a couple days previous.

Friday, he was standing at the cutting block, setting groceries on it, and digging back into the bags.

"Huh. I thought you might be putting away those mini drumsticks. They've got to get into the freezer. I couldn't find your kind. Two stores were out. I didn't get you anything today."

With that, Farmer H took the mini drums to the mini freezer in the laundry room. Then he went to his recliner!

"Oh. I guess you're done putting stuff away!"

"I put the bananas in the bowl. And them drumsticks."

"You quit because you found out there's nothing here for you! I thought about bringing you something, but there wasn't a display of anything, and I didn't go to the cookie aisle."

"I need treats, too!"

I put away the sour cream that Farmer H couldn't turn to set in FRIG II. And the four cans of white meat chicken, two cans of chicken broth, and two cans of cream of chicken soup that I had bought to make him chicken and dumplings later. Then the bread. I saw that Farmer H had left the 12-pack of toilet paper on a kitchen chair.

I'm used to putting things away. I don't have to have Farmer H's help. It's just that I had mistaken his previous behavior as contributing to household chores, not digging for culinary treasures!

I still can't find the box of tall kitchen trash bags that I KNOW I bought that day...

A Surprise Feast

I was planning to have some chicken chunks and BBQ slaw for my supper on Sunday. Farmer H was going to have bacon sandwiches with the bacon left that I didn't use for the 7 layer salad at Easter. But Farmer H is a tricky one. He brought home some pulled pork and smoked brisket from a dinner at our credit union on Saturday night. So he had some of that, and I used some to make myself...

SUPER NACHOS

I didn't want just a pulled pork sandwich, with BBQ sauce added. I wanted to use it for something I haven't had in a while.

Isn't that beautiful? It was even better to eat than it was to look at. You can't see all my ingredients. They were laid down in this order:

12 tortilla chips

half a bag of shredded lettuce

1 oz of shredded cheddar cheese

a small handful of pulled pork (I don't know how else to describe the measurement!)

seven tablespoons of salsa

one diced Vidalia onion

six tablespoons of sour cream

half a mini can of sliced black olives

It's not a diet meal, heh, heh! I estimate it at 800 calories. Not a big deal to me, since I only had a banana and oatmeal for my other meal of the day.

I plan on having it again Monday night. This time, I will add some Franks Original Red Hot Sauce in the layer between the pulled pork and salsa. It needs a little kick.

I Whined Because I Had No Feet, And Then I Met A Man Who Tried To Kill Me With New Feet

One day last week, I was grousing about my seat at the kitchen table. You know, because I'm a grouser by nature. When something displeases me, it is known! I do it all the time, whether Farmer H is here or not. It usually concerns something he has done (shocking, I know).

Anyhoo... our kitchen table is my mom's old kitchen table. It's wood, with wooden chairs. The chairs have metal feet, which can leave marks on the linoleum with repeated use. Farmer H had put pads on the metal feet. Which work fine, except that they don't STAY on the metal feet. Well. All but one of them do. 

For months, there's been the right front foot on my chair that comes loose. So every time I get up and move the chair out of the walking area, that foot pad is off. When I come back to the table, I have to pick up the chair and set it back down on the foot pad, then maneuver it carefully into the position where I want to sit. This becomes tedious after doing it many times a day, week after week, month after month.

"I am SO tired of lifting this chair to put it back on its foot!"

Nothing I haven't said before. Farmer H was in his recliner in the living room. I didn't expect that he heard me. Not that it would matter. I've told him to his face at least five times, as he walks in the kitchen door, that his chair feet pads are not working for me.

Imagine my surprise when he came in the next week saying,

"I've got feet for your chair whenever you get up off it."

Ah, the language of love. Such a wonderful way to say he's thinking of me. I went on about my business later that afternoon. Had my 20 minute nap, showered, went to town. After fixing Farmer H's supper, I went back to the table with my scratchers. I pulled the chair out, expecting to have to search for that wayward foot pad. But the chair slid easily!

TOO EASILY!

My kitchen chair (as well as Farmer H's, I saw) now had white plastic foot pads. They slid like a puck across a hockey rink! I was afraid to sit down! Because, you know, chairs like to slide out from under me, and I don't have a fast reaction time to recover. In fact, The Pony stands behind the chair to brace it when I sit down at the grill in the casino, or on a wheely chair at a property closing. It's because my knees barely bend to 90 degrees. I get mostly into sitting position, but then I have to plop the rest of the way down.

I suspect this might be another of Farmer H's attempts to kill me! Who would ever suspect such a plot? It was merely a husband upgrading his wife's chair feet...

I positioned the chair just right. Put my left hand on the chair back, and my right hand on the kitchen table. I tried to be ready to abort the mission at the last minute, should I sense a slide before my rumpus reached the seat. Thankfully, there was minimum slide-age. But then I realized I had to get up!

The getting up was actually scarier than the sitting down. Because that chair could scoot backwards as I had my left hand on the back, and throw me off balance before I was standing. I sat there about five minutes, dreading, planning. I made it! At least the chair seems more stable when getting up than sitting down.

Of course I discussed my concerns with Farmer H. Who replied: "Huh." Not sure if that was his typical response for not giving a fat rat's patootie, or an expression of disappointment for his failed plot.

Chinese Easter

When The Pony came out last Thursday to help with pre-preparations for our Easter Dinner on Good Friday, we didn't want to deal with making regular food for our lunch (or Farmer H's supper). The plan was to pick up Chinese food on the way back to the Mansion. It's on our route, and opens at 10:30. So it was easy to get my banking and T-Hoe gassing errands done, and grab lunch at 11:00.

I put mine and Farmer H's in FRIG II for later. The Pony ate a regular lunch (which I don't) around 1:00. Well. That's when The Pony set up lunch on the marred coffee table in the living room. The eating was done intermittently, while coming to the kitchen to fetch things for me. It's a big help.

The Pony had Orange Chicken, with white rice and crab rangoons. I believe the drink is rum and sparkling apple juice.

I had the Chicken and Broccoli. It came with white rice, which I gave to The Pony. It smelled FANTASTIC! I wished I had time to eat it right then, but one quick bite, and I saved it for supper after I took The Pony back home at 4:00. I don't know why they put carrots in my Chicken and Broccoli. Maybe that's a thing? I don't really like carrots this way. But I ate them. I wish the picture wasn't out of focus.

Farmer H got the lunch special, which came in a bigger container, with fried rice, and a crab rangoon. It was Hunan Chicken, and smelled every bit as delicious as mine, even though I don't like spicy food.

It almost makes me want to spend two days preparing a big dinner again, just to get Chinese, heh, heh! Although we could get it any time. 

The Pony Is My Conscience

Well. Apparently Mrs. HM is a lowlife scumbag these days. Through a faux-pas not of her making, and unbeknownst to her in the moment. So kind of The Pony to point it out...

We were checking out at Country Mart on Thursday. The Pony always goes first, paying and putting bagged items back in the cart while I set mine on the conveyor. 

I didn't have much. A pair of fake CROCS that cost $8.98. A box of microwave popcorn, some cherry tomatoes, a jar of green olives, a can of black olives, a bottle of Ken's Blue Cheese Salad Dressing, and four 6-packs of Farmer H's Diet Mountain Dew. Which was on sale, 2-for-$9.00. Three of the 6-packs were down in the cart, with one perched on the side of the cart, for easy scanning.

The cashier was a young man, maybe 21. He rang up wine for The Pony, so at least he was legal age to do that, though he looked younger. He offered The Pony a receipt (refused), and turned to greet me.

"I have four of the sodas."

"Okay." Cashier Boy used the gun to scan the barcode of the perched 6-pack. I heard it. Beep, beep, beep, beep. Then he scanned my other items by dragging them over the thingy, and bagged them. I took my receipt, The Pony commenting to Cashier Boy how I was one of those people who still balanced their checkbook.

"I just did that this morning! That's what old people do!"

I wheeled the cart out of the way while stuffing the receipt in my pocket. Cashier Boy was greeting the next customer as The Pony and I walked past the two lottery machines, which we had already partaken of as we came in.

"Let me see your receipt."

"Okay. But I need it to write in my checkbook, so don't lose it."

We walked on. Almost to the door.

"Uh huh. Just as I thought. You only paid for three sodas."

"WHAT? I heard the scanner! It beeped four times!"

"I heard it too. It DID beep four times. But you only paid for three."

"Oh, no! That means I got charged full price. Because they're 2-for-$9.00. And they always have that sign with 'OR $5.69 EACH.'"

"No. They each rang up as $4.50."

"Let me see!"

Indeed, that was on the receipt. 3 @ 2/9.00. 13.50 as their total.

"Well. It's too late now. He's ringing up other people. There's a line. If I had heard it, or if you had told me while we were standing there, I would have paid for the other one. But now I'm not going back. He won't be in any trouble. Nobody will know. It's not like a gas drive-off, or the lottery count coming up wrong."

The Pony shook his head in disappointment. I agree that I SHOULD have gone back. I have done that so many times, and rescued so many clerks from their lottery errors. This was too much inconvenience. I know it's wrong. But overall, I feel like I'm still in the plus column for doing the right thing...

The Pony begs to differ.

Another Attempt Thwarted?

I was at the kitchen table Thursday morning, on the phone with The Pony about our Errand Day, when I saw a WASP buzz past my face!

"I've gotta go! I need the flyswatter. A wasp is sitting on the window trim over my shoulder. I'm sure Dad let it in this morning to kill me! Talk to you later!"

That dang wasp was HUGE. At least two inches long. It clung to the window trim, probably rubbing its hands in glee, while I went to the cutting block to retrieve a flyswatter that hangs on a hook from its metal frame. I crept back and 

WHAP!

One quick, forceful swat, and that wasp fell to the flat top of a little container I have sitting under the window. I grabbed half a Puffs With Lotion (already torn in half, because I am miserly and don't use a whole tissue when a half works just fine) and scooped up the wasp, squishing as I did so. Then I took him to the toilet and flushed him.

CRUSHED and FLUSHED!

That's the only way to get rid of such an unwelcome guest! I don't trust them. Many a time (before I gained some sense) I have swatted a wasp, and put it in the wastebasket, only to see it later buzzing around the Mansion again! Or my $17,000 house. They don't stay dead! It's like you can crunch them, folded upon themselves like origami, and still they come back to life. 

I really hope this one doesn't miraculously reanimate, and swim up from the toilet at a time when I am... um... indisposed!