I Guess The Carrots Made His Eyesight Sharper, Though Not As Sharp As His Tongue

Farmer H thinks he's boss of the world, but he's not. Now that he doesn't have a factory full of people to annoy, he can devote more time to annoying ME!

Monday night, I sat down on the short couch to chat with him while he ate his supper in the La-Z-Boy. He was having shrimp and curly fries and this,

steamed, with melted Velveeta cheese. I know that for sure, because I'd just made it for him, while he sat in the La-Z-Boy.

Anyhoo...Farmer H blurts out all at once,

"Put on a different sweatshirt!"

Seriously! What business is it of HIS what I'm wearing? It's not like we were expecting the QUEEN to drop by for after-dinner cocktails. It's not like I was Carrie and he was taking me to the prom, and needed to worry that the baby blue color of my ratty old sweatshirt would clash with the shade of red that pig blood turns when it's suspended above the stage awaiting dumping. It's not like Publisher's Clearing House had just pulled up outside with cameras and a van full of balloons to present me a big cardboard check.

And Farmer H doesn't even look at me anyway! He always has his eyes on the TV screen, watching that tedious MASH that I used to think was such a good show. I don't know how he could see me that well, what with being preoccupied with his food, and the TV, and only sensing my attire through his peripheral vision. Who does he think he is, to command me to change my clothes? (I didn't.)

Do I tell Farmer H what to wear? No. Well. Yes, on that special day that we were headed to see Genius and take graduation pictures at his college. And Farmer H didn't listen to me at all, and wore that horrendous flowery western shirt, and thankfully covered it up with a hoodie advertising a totally different college in the pictures.

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom will not be bossed.