Farmer H, jack-of-all-trades, has a new tool to clip on his belt. He's a psychic!
At first, I thought Farmer H was simply up to his old shenanigans. Namely, accusing me of being senile/inattentive/addled/a liar. That's his modus operandi. If something happens that might put him in a bad light, he flips the script to it being Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's fault. Because life is all about blaming the love of your life, your partner in kids, your chief cook and platewasher, for your own senility/inattentiveness/addlebrainedness/deafness.
On his way out the door to work Friday morning, Farmer H said, "So you say your Change Oil light is on?"
"No. Why would I say that? When did I say that? When do you THINK I said that? Because I didn't. My Change Oil light is not on."
"You told me it was."
"No. Because it isn't."
"You don't remember half of what you tell me."
"You make up twice what you think I tell you."
"Whatever. I was going to get it changed Saturday morning when I get a haircut."
"You aren't working Saturday morning?"
"No. Since I'm having that surgery Tuesday, I told them I needed to get a few things in order."
"Well, my oil isn't one of them."
Farmer H left for work. The Pony got up and went through his morning routine. We left the #1 son a-snoozin', though claiming he was awake. We patted Juno on the head, piled into T-Hoe, and backed out of the garage. "You're never going to believe this. My dash says, 'Change engine oil soon.' Right there where the mileage should be. Where the mileage has been every day, right up until this morning. What a coincidence that Dad said I told him to change my oil. Did I ever mention anything about changing the oil?"
"I suppose this means your dad is psychic."
"I hope not."
"Yeah. That makes two of us."