You'd think Mrs. HM would be her rainbows-and-unicorns sunny self, now two-and-a-half years into her retirement. But a funny thing happened on the way to living the permanent vacation.
I HAVE OLD RAGE!
Yeah. I'm SO impatient with stuff that really should be inconsequential. I'm not even talking about Farmer H's antics. Well. Much.
It's the simplest things. Like when I go to sit down in my rolly chair in front of New Delly in my dark basement lair. I grab the armrests (at least the good one on the right side, and the bare metal bar on the left) and pull it forward slightly as I sit down. Because it's on wheels, you know! You can't just plop down all willy-nilly, and expect a rolly chair to wait for you.
I go ballistic when I pull my rolly chair toward me, and the WHEELS BUMP MY HEELS! What's up with that? Who manufactures a chair where the wheels stick out farther than the seat? That's just an accident waiting to happen! If I didn't have a firm grip on the armrest-and-a-half, that rolly chair would bounce off my heels and skitter backwards, causing me to plop down on my ample rumpus, possibly to never arise again. I doubt I'd break a hip, what with my natural padding. But getting up would be a chore on knees like mine. And I've almost broken Farmer H from popping in on me through the day.
Sure, it could be worse. There could be worse things sticking out from under my rolly chair than wheels. The hands of an intruder grabbing my ankles, maybe. So I need to chill on this little annoyance.
Another incident that sticks in my craw is the flow of water from the sink in the NASCAR bathroom. I fill my bubba cup up with water there every day. I'm always careful to not splash around, because our countertop was handpainted by my cousin's wife, back when we first built the house. I don't know how good the finish is that was applied by Farmer H. I don't want to ruin this one-of-a-kind race car mural that was airbrushed circa 1997.
As careful as I am, WATER SPRAYS OUT OF THE SINK SIDEWAYS! I have to get an awkward grip on my cup (do you know how heavy a bubba cup filled with ice and water can get?) with one hand, and try to shield the 360-degree spray with the remaining hand. This process usually involves some colorful language. I know the round thingy at the end of the faucet needs to be soaked in vinegar to dissolve the lime deposits preventing a steady stream. But I can't get it loose, because of the lime deposits. Farmer H has been informed several times.
Sure, it could be worse. Instead of the sink faucet spraying water all around, it could be the toilet spraying water all around. I should consider the source of my spray, and be grateful.
The latest evoker of my ire was discovered Saturday morning at the La-Z-Boy. CHEX MIX CRUMBS WERE PILED IN A HILL ON THE CARPET! Let the record show that Mrs. HM does not eat Chex Mix in the La-Z-Boy. But I bet you know who does!
It's like Farmer H has a hollow leg, and keeps eating and eating that Chex Mix in the evening, stuffing it against his pie-hole like he eats popcorn, crumbling it against his mouth as a wide handful tries to fit between his lips. Like he has a hollow leg that fills up, just until it reaches a knothole in a wooden pegleg, and the crumbs spill out.
Sure, it could be worse. I could have found an old banana peel in the cushions of the La-Z-Boy. I should count to ten, and be happy that it wasn't toenails in the candle this time.
Putting it in perspective like that has helped me calm down to a low simmer.