I'm Pretty Sure This Is Some Kind Of Irony

The Pony came out on Tuesday, courtesy of SilverRedO and Farmer H, to help move furniture. Farmer H wanted to take the short couch downstairs, and move a bed frame into Genius's old bedroom. Which first meant moving the other bed frame out of Genius's old bedroom. 

I'm not sure where Farmer H got the big wooden bed frame. Maybe out of Cheap House. He had HOS (Farmer H's Oldest Son) help him load it and unload it last week. It has been sitting on the porch by the steps to the garage, leaned up against the Mansion. Never mind that I told him this was a stupid idea. I would imagine Jack has peed on it several times by now...

Anyhoo... The Pony wanted to take the couch out the front door, and drive it around back to the basement door in SilverRedO. But Farmer H said it would be no problem getting it down the 13 rail-less basement steps. He said the legs screw off. They're round, about four inches high. Then it should fit right down the stairs.

The Pony figured, as did I, that they'd stand the short couch on end, at the landing at the top of the stairs, then tip it over in an inverted V, with one person at the bottom (Pony), and the other up top. That way they could get a grip on the couch and maneuver it down slowly.

Oh, no. Farmer H had The Pony standing midway down those steps, and was balancing that couch over the banister that lines the rectangular entrance down to the basement. I almost flipped out when I glanced toward the living room and saw him! He was ordering The Pony to step down another step. Then he heaved the couch. That meant The Pony was bearing the weight of the whole thing. It put a gouge in the wall above the steps, because The Pony couldn't grasp it right. Then Farmer H moved to the landing, and followed it down, telling The Pony to let it slide to the bottom.

Thankfully, nobody was injured. They got the short couch set up in the basement. The Pony came upstairs, grousing quietly about the change of "plans." Apologizing for the wall, which was entirely Farmer H's fault. 

Anyhoo... at that point, I heard Farmer H say, coming up the stairs:

"This is terrible. I need a handrail here."

To which I said, "If only I had asked for such a thing 28 years ago!"

Poison, Apple

Who knew that a single trip to the Devil's Playground could provide me with so much material to waste your time! I wish I had taken pictures of Farmer H's flatbread pizza, and the pasta. I guess I was just in a hurry to get his supper over with.

Once I had served him half of the Chicken Fettuccine Alfredo, I felt a stab of conscience. Wasn't there some kind of pasta recall at the Devil's Playground recently? Nationwide? With a possibility of DEATH due to listeria??? 

I recalled asking The Pony, a pasta aficionado, about it. And was assured that The Pony's favorite was bags of refrigerated Rana brand 5 Cheese Tortellini. Never fettuccine. Well, this was not good. Farmer H was already eating his supper. I consulted my estranged BFF Google.

Whew! That was a close one. I had bought Fresh Market Chicken Fettuccine Alfredo for Farmer H. It came from the refrigerated section of the deli, in a tray with a cellophane top. And the recall had been for Bettergoods Lemon Alfredo Fettuccine, which was frozen, in a bright yellow bag. Farmer H would live to berate me again!

Speaking (technically typing) of berating... When I arrived home that day, Farmer H came out to the garage to carry in the groceries.

"Be careful getting those bags out! I have apples again, and I don't want you letting one fall out like last time!" 

The week before, when I heard an apple hit the concrete garage floor, and saw Farmer H stoop to pick it up, I told him that was HIS apple! And made sure I sent it in his lunch for the SUS2.5. I didn't want a repeat. Those apples were kind pricey.

Farmer H carried in the bags without incident, then went about his business of doing who knows what outside (though I'm sure it was something to annoy me in the future).

While taking items out of the bags, I DROPPED AN APPLE ON THE KITCHEN FLOOR! It bounced and rolled. Dang it! I picked it up and set it on the counter. To become my nightly apple after supper. That was only fair. It didn't have time for the bruise to develop much.

I confess that the thought of making it Farmer H's lunch apple crossed my mind.

Pony Sandwich

While we're on the subject of sandwiches... Can you tell I've been watching my food intake for the past two years, heh, heh? We'll take a moment for The Pony's selection during our dalliance with the Devil.

The Pony usually prefers pasta meals, utilizing storebought pastas that come in a bag, then adding ingredients. However, sometimes a Pony just wants something simple, like a chicken sandwich off the hot bar at the Devil's Playground. I had tried the chicken strips from there, but was not impressed.

"I really like this chicken sandwich. I'm getting one for tonight if they have it."

That's the thing. You can't always find the same item twice at the Devil's Playground. Sometimes they run out, and sometimes they switch items. But The Pony was lucky on Thursday, and got the chicken sandwich. It comes wrapped in a foil packet.

"The sandwich. I still think breaded cutlet is the best description because it's not like a chicken patty. Decided to have a drink with it. The  "winter spiced cranberry" Sprite is...not exactly good? I mean I didn't try it outside of the drink, but the taste isn't something I'd have just to have it. It does I think mix fairly well with the rum."

The Pony was referring to a 2-liter bottle of Sprite that was on display up front. It was labeled as Winter Spiced Cranberry. I think it was Sprite Zero Sugar, because The Pony looked at the label, and mentioned how it didn't have calories. 

Anyhoo... at first I thought the chicken looked like it might have Buffalo Sauce on it, but I think it's just a fried chicken cutlet. I don't know what The Pony might have added to it. Looks pretty good to me. Though I would put on pickle and onion and some yellow mustard mixed with Chinese hot mustard. I don't think I'd like the Sprite.

Winner, Winner, Deli Sandwich Dinner

The Devil redeemed himself with my second sandwich. This one had taste. It had flavor. I would get it again. But still trim off some bread.

This sandwich is the New York Deli.

It contains Pastrami, Black Forest Ham, Hard Salami, and Baby Swiss Cheese on White French Bread. Maybe it's just the bread I'm not fond of. I still trimmed a bunch of it off. This time slicing down the length of the top and bottom sections. Then I heated this one in the oven.

The picture promised me this:

What I got was this:

Pretty close, don't you think? Plus, it came with a packet of yellow mustard, and Duke's mayonnaise. Farmer H can have the mustard to take to his SUS2.5 with his mini cheeseburgers. I used the Duke's mayo. Not all at once, just a little squirt on each bite. I find there's more flavor that way. And since I'm not eating in person at a fancy restaurant, I have no qualms about my manners. I also had a crunchy dill pickle on the side, and a few of Farmer H's Ruffles potato chips. The crumbs at the bottom of the bag that he shuns.

It's a bit disconcerting to see all the ingredients that are not actual food. But as for the nutrition, you can't go wrong with 30 grams of protein.

Yes, I would definitely have this New York Deli sandwich again. But the Chicken Bacon Ranch sandwich can go cross the road!

The Devil Disappoints

My shopping at the Devil's Playground was mostly convenience type foods. 

Chicken Bacon Ranch Sandwich

American Deli Sandwich

Mini Cheese Pizza

Flatbread Pizza

Chicken Alfredo Fettucine

Ham chunks

Honey Crisp Apples

Bananas

The sandwiches were for me, and the mini pizza. Farmer H was having the fettucine and flatbread pizza. Stuff that's quick, and so I don't have to eat what he's eating. Stuff we haven't had for a while, since I don't usually shop at the Devil's Playground

I told The Pony I was excited about the Chicken Bacon Ranch Sandwich. I was having it first. Oh, how disappointed I was! I didn't get a picture of the sandwich, because who does that? Once I started eating it, I knew the story had to be told. To shame The Devil! So I dug the label out of the wastebasket.

Of course my sandwich didn't look like this. At least their label warms you. And I could see through the plastic anyway. It was more like a mini loaf of bread with something painted inside. That would have been fine, if only my sandwich had TASTE. It did not! Not even a taste of bread. It was like eating bread, from the texture, but absolutely no taste. Unless I dabbed a bit of the Bacon Ranch dressing on it, which had come in a separate packet, like mustard.

I really expected some kind of flavor. My sandwich had Oven Roasted Chicken Breast, Provolone Cheese, Applewood Smoked Bacon, Bacon Ranch, and White French Bread. ALL devoid of flavor. Except the Bacon Ranch.

I even pulled off at least half of the bread, hoping for some meat or cheese taste. Nope.

The dogs liked the bread well enough. I'm not sure they are taste connoisseurs. After all, they lick their own butts.

Business With The Devil

Mrs. HM has a confession. She has been doing business with the Devil. In his Playground. 

You may recall that Mrs. HM had not set foot into the Devil's Playground for over four years. Ever since The Virus, when she took objection to being made to walk around the end of cattle chutes set up along the front of the store. Such a distance for one who needs a handicap parking space. Only to find that such a parking space doubled the distance she had to walk to get inside. The one-way arrows on alternate aisles was also a bone of contention.

Anyhoo... I think it was near the end of September when The Pony asked if I felt like making a sortie to the Devil's Playground.

"They have new carts now. I'm not sure you'll like them. The handle is way up high, like to your chest. But they do have more registers open now. About half. Not just the self-checkout, which I know you don't like."

Because my knees and legs have felt a bit better, I agreed to try. With the stipulation that The Pony could bring me a cart to push as I walked in. The plan was just to look around the deli department the first time. Because it's at the front of the store, by the doors. There was a dearth of handicap spaces available the first couple times we went, but I found one close to the end of a parking aisle. And the last time, we got a space next to the cart return. It was a longer walk, but there was a cart right there for me to push.

Anyhoo... we went back on Errand Day. I got an actual handicap space. And I agreed to walk unaided into the store to where the inside carts were. It was kind of a big step for me. Along with the deli, we made it halfway to the back of the store, where I was looking for some wafered ham for sandwiches and tearing up to put in a mini pizza I got from the deli.

Of course I was not happy about my shopping experience. Everywhere you turn these days are employees with tall racks of multiple bins, shopping for people who want their groceries delivered. They act all self-important. Good luck trying to squeeze in and get your own merchandise off a shelf.

Anyhoo... The Pony trotted to the other end of the store to get a couple items from the pharmacy area. Then rejoined me at the bananas, where I was trying to outmaneuver two employee-shoppers having a conversation while tending their racks of bins.

"I put my step-counter on my phone. So we can see how much we walk. Yours will probably be about half of mine, since I made that extra trip."

Once we got back to T-Hoe, The Pony checked the steps.

"I walked a half-mile. So yours was probably at least a quarter mile."

"Wow! That's a LOT for me! And I feel pretty good. It was just starting to hurt as we left, from standing in line. My bones on bones were complaining."

I know that a quarter-mile is nothing to rejoice about for a normal person. But for me, who has only been going in and out of stores for my sole exercise, this was a big deal. I imagine the running track. 440 yards around. Or for you metric people, 400 meters. I can't imagine walking that far, even pushing a cart. Yet I did. Sure, there were multiple stops along the way. But I'm impressed with myself.

The More Who Know

Our enclave is going to have to find a new whipping boy. Hopefully not literally. More of a figurative whipping boy. A shooing-away-and-complaining-about boy. Pepper is no longer an option. Even though we only had the one complaint, from our neighbor across the road. Farmer H made it pretty clear the last time she contacted him about "seeing Pepper" down at Mailbox Row, that it was NOT Pepper, who now wears a shock collar. The news left her discombobulated.

Anyhoo... on Tuesday, Farmer H was coming up our gravel road and saw the dog-walkers. They are a couple who walk two dogs apiece on leashes down the gravel road. I've seen them once. I guess they do it every day. Those dogs aren't going to walk themselves. They're captives!

"Pepper was in our yard by the trash dumpster, barking at them. I stopped and told the guy, 'He has a shock collar, and he knows he cain't come out in the road.' The guy said, 'I noticed that he's been staying about 10 feet back from the road.' So there's more people that know our dog ain't the one if anybody has trouble with a white dog."

"Was Pepper bothering them before?"

"He didn't say nothin' about it. I'm guessing he would run out and bother the dogs."

"With Pepper, I'm thinking it's more like he'd run out and try to get attention from the people."

"Maybe. He still acts like a pup. But them people know he ain't gettin' out."

Pepper seems quite happy with his new boundaries. It doesn't stop him from trying to go farther, but the trying stops when he gets that warning sound. He especially enjoys getting the collar taken off and on for charging, because he gets a treat.