Chicken Little Liar

You may have noticed, here and there, that I've been a little bit critical of Farmer H lately. Well. Moreso than usual. Maybe that criticism is unfounded. Maybe he's just not capable of understanding. Maybe he simply can't function at the level I expect from him.

 Poor Farmer H. He doesn't know his chicken parts!

On Saturday, I got an 8-piece box from the gas station chicken store. They were having a sale, you see! An 8-piece box for only $8.00! Normally, it is $8.99. Not such a big discount, but when you're sittin' on the chicken fence, that right there will push you off and into action. Here's the catch, though. Along with their computer-printed sign on the door proclaiming this sale, it said: "We pick the pieces."

Huh. That was almost enough to make me wary. But we haven't had their chicken in a long time, and I was sick and didn't want to cook, but there was nothing wrong with my sense of smell, so I got us some chicken. And a small mashed potatoes and gravy for Farmer H. Because I'm thoughtful like that.

When I got home, Farmer H even came out to help me carry in the shopping. I took the chicken in myself. I explained about the pieces sign.

"I haven't looked in it. For all I know, we could have eight wings! I hope not. But it's a possibility. That would suck. I don't know how they can say that. The girl who got mine knows I'm in there all the time. Maybe she gave me good ones."

I peeked into the box before I took my 3:30 lunch down to my lair. It had two breasts on the bottom, and two thighs on top of them, and a leg on the front side of the box and another one at the back, and two wings jammed down at the end. It was a regular 8-piece box of chicken. And it looked delicious. Better than previous times, when it looked like they were frying up Cornish hens.

I put the chicken in FRIG II. Farmer H was going to the auction, and I hadn't even had lunch yet, so that was going to be our supper. He'd warm it when he got ready, and I could get mine later. Much later, since I wasn't having lunch until 3:30. I heard Farmer H come home from the auction sometime between 9:00 and 10:30. Time means nothing to me any more, now that I'm RETIRED.

Farmer H came stumped downstairs to tell me about his bargain of $75 for 10 jugs of laundry detergent and toilet bowl cleaner and something edible, I forget, maybe hot sauce. He had watched a lady who regularly buys that kind of stuff bid up to $70 and quit. Then Farmer H got it for $75. He plans to sell it at his Storage Container Store, or maybe at another auction.

Anyhoo...I asked about his chicken. You know. Just to assess what I was having, and what would be left for the next day, for lunch or supper for one or both of us.

"I had two legs and a little part. A...you know...a ...wing."

When I went up, to get my supper around 10:00, I saw that both wings were still there. The two legs and a thigh were gone. The bigger of the two thighs. Like I said, these were good pieces not like the miniature ones I've shown pictures of a while back.

"Oh. You ate a thigh. Not a wing. I figured you had more than that." Not that I care. Farmer H can eat whatever he wants, but don't tell me some fiction when I'm trying to figure out what I'll have, and what's left for tomorrow.

From his La-Z-Boy, Farmer H insisted that he'd eaten two legs and a wing. I know he likes the legs. I don't. He always eats the legs, and sometimes a breast or a thigh with them. Legs are not very filling, even with mashed potatoes.

I took the remaining thigh, and a wing, to the La-Z-Boy to show him. Because he was still playing that story of eating a wing. Not accusing him of eating pieces I wanted. Not calling him a liar. Just letting him know that I KNEW that he didn't really think he ate a wing instead of a thigh.

"This is a wing. This is a thigh. They look pretty different to me. Don't you know the difference?"

"Yes!"

"Well, you didn't, apparently. THIS is a thigh. THIS is a wing."

"I had that one on the right. That's what I had."

"Uh huh. The thigh. It's not a LITTLE piece. It's bigger than the leg. And surely you knew since you already ate it, that it had different bones that what a wing would have. And you didn't have to unfold it. And it had more meat. And it was dark meat, not half dark on one bone, and half white on the other bone. You are old enough to know the difference between chicken parts!"

"Whatever! There you go!"

"I only asked what you had, and you're the one who hesitated and made up that story. I don't know what the big deal is. Just tell me you had two legs and a thigh. Then I know what's left."

I swear! ALWAYS with the untruths! You don't dare call them lies, because they came out of Farmer H's mouth, and to him, saying it MAKES IT SO.

He's so very imaginative that he could write fiction. He had no reason to fabricate a story of eating a wing, like I wasn't going to notice when I looked at the chicken. Or maybe he thought I didn't look already, and he could pretend that they gave us THREE wings, and ONE thigh. Though I don't know how that would benefit him in any way. It's not like he's pretending he's on a diet or anything. Along with that chicken he ate TWO jumbo cinnamon rolls, which he also stated. Truthfully.

I can never really believe anything Farmer H tells me.