EQUAL TIME FOR FARMER H.
Two days. Neither tale particularly sympathy-worthy. Unless it's sympathy for Mrs. HM. Who was minding her own business Monday afternoon, happily pecking away at New Delly's keyboard in her dark basement lair.
TROMP TROMP TROMP!
Here came Farmer H, down the steps and into my lair. He stood at the end of the counter, putting a crick in my neck, jawing about his $5000 house. Pacing around. Shuffling his feet.
About an hour after I got rid of him, I left my office to make his supper. You'll never guess what I saw. Or maybe you will.
Farmer H had made his mark. While milling around in my lair, he had knocked frozen mud and slushy snow from the tread of his new $6.00 work boots. You can bet I mentioned it to him. You know. Because I was SURE he would rush downstairs to clean it up.
Can you believe he didn't???
I took a picture the next day. I'm going to clean it up with damp paper towels. Not sure how soon. It's not spring yet! Rain coming in on Saturday. I don't see any reason to be hasty.
4 comments:
Of course I can believe he didn't! And seeing as it's all in one spot, with the rest of the floor presumably clean, I would have to be cleaning it up right away. Here on my own floors I don't do any such thing, since the whole floor is grotty and cleaning any particular spot highlights the grunge that is the rest of the floor. Decades old vinyl flooring that I MEANT to get scrubbed before I moved in, but an over enthusiastic niece had a trailer already half loaded with my stuff while I was picking up the keys, so the furniture went in, I followed and it hasn't yet had that scrubbing. It's been seven and a half years now....sshhh!
River,
Farmer H was cranked back in his La-Z-Boy, having supper, and I noticed a clod of mud stuck to the side of his $6.00 boot sole. I pointed it out to him. "There's mud on your boot. I guess it's going to be mud on the floor any minute now." He didn't even react. Didn't lean over to pick it off for proper disposal.
So that's why I'm not in a big hurry to swipe up his mess in my lair. He might be back. Though I do regret waiting, every time I walk over it in my sock feet if I go back in there for something late at night, while kicked back in my OPC (Old People Chair) watching TV.
HeWho and his boots always bring gravel inside. While I don't appreciate cleaning up after him, I do it anyway. What drives me crazy is the bathroom. I have banned his boot clad feet from the bathroom. Nothing like stepping out of the shower to a rug full of tiny sharp gravel. He still slips by me from time to time and I can be quite vocal. I can slip it into every conversation we have for weeks.
Kathy,
Yes, that gravel is a killer on the bathroom ceramic tile. Even the cedar chips from the dogs' bedding make my tender princess soles scream with pain! I'm afraid HeWho probably turns his hearing aid down. Farmer H does that, and he doesn't even wear them.
Post a Comment