I Might Need To Set Up A Control Center In My Dark Basement Lair

That Farmer H! He is very trying. I swear, it's like leaving a toddler unattended upstairs, once I descend to my dark basement lair. Friday evening, for instance. I knew he was going to the auction. I knew he was going to warm up his own supper, from the Sloppy Joes I made at his request on Thursday night. A meal which wasn't hard for me to make.

I only had to fry some hamburger after going to the store for it. And use two skillets, because I don't like Sloppy Joes, and made plain hamburger to fix my own bowl of refried beans and Franks Original Redhot Sauce and salsa and shredded cheddar. Of course I cleaned up the kitchen before eating, after calling Farmer H in to make his Sloppy Joes. I figured he was capable. I'd set out the jar of dill pickle slices, which I'd made a separate trip to town for. And a fork. And his buns. In fact, Farmer H had turned down my offer of fries. He was really helping me out.

Until I turned around after the dishes were done, and Farmer H was sitting in his La-Z-Boy with two Sloppy Joes and some Ruffles, and saw that he'd left the pickle fork on the cutting block. Because, you know, to walk two steps to drop it into the dishwater would have been too much for him.

Yes, I knew Farmer H's routine for Friday evening. When I heard him enter the house around 4:45, I knew I should go to the bottom of the steps and holler up to him, so he'd know how to make his own supper. The leftover Sloppy Joes were in a plastic container in FRIG II. I don't want him microwaving red-sauced foods in plastic, because they stain. Even if it's my Hillbilly Tupperware of washed-out shredded Parmesan containers, I'd prefer that he use a glass bowl. They wash easier, and don't stain.

SWEET GUMMI MARY! Farmer H is a grown man! Surely he could use common sense and warm up his food without incident. Especially since I've given him that same microwaving lecture about 40-leven times. I heard him crank back the La-Z-Boy. I thought maybe he was expecting ME to warm his supper. He needs to eat by 5:30 to make the auction on time. So at 5:15, I started upstairs.

"Did you eat yet?"

"Yeah. I'm done."

"Oh. I was going to tell you how to warm up your Sloppy Joes."

"Already did."

In the kitchen sink, I found one of my four keepsake bowls that my mom gave me. They're usable as bowls, but they're old, and sentimental favorites. The only thing I use them for is making cheese dip for the Super Bowl. Two of them are cracked. Were cracked when Mom gave them to me, and repaired by my dad with some kind of glue. Noticeably cracked, but not leaky. So as you might imagine, I try to be extra careful with my two good bowls. Now Farmer H had used one to warm his Sloppy Joes, and it was sitting in the sink full of water, remnants of the red sauce around its flat rim.

"Why did you use THAT bowl?"

"I don't know. It's just a bowl."

"My MOM gave me those bowls. They're really old! There's only two good ones left, and you used one! Of all the bowls in the kitchen, you had to use that one."

"I use it all the time."

"Then I guess you secretly use it, and wash it alone and put it away again. Because I've never seen you use it."

"HM, it's just a bowl. I've used it for 20 years."

"I don't think so. What's wrong with the regular bowls? Are you too lazy to use the regular bowls? Just because you'd have to lift up the plastic measuring cup laying in the top of the stack? Wait a minute! The measuring cup isn't even there! It's in the sink from me washing it. There was NO REASON not to use the regular bowls. How would YOU like it if I went over to one of your BARns, and found your oldest something, and wiped my butt with it? Huh? How would you like THAT?"

"It's just a bowl HM. I should have known you'd have some complaint about it."

"Then you shouldn't have used it!"

I swear. Farmer H can't be left alone for a few seconds. If I thought he'd install surveillance cameras for watching himself, I'd relax the purse strings for their purchase.