He's A Sly One, Farmer H

As if I don't have enough trouble keeping up with Farmer H's antics, I discovered another of his secret shenanigans last week.

I was in the kitchen, whipping up some kind of slop supper for Farmer H, while he was relaxing in his La-Z-Boy. All at once, he declared, "I have some scratch-off tickets in the truck!" Every now and then he buys one, rarely two at once. So he was sure he'd have a winner. Not to let the cat out of the bag too soon... but he did NOT.

Out of the eyes in the back of my head, I sensed Farmer H stopping at the entrance to the kitchen. Then he disappeared momentarily. Then I heard him go out the front door. And return. He sat down to scratch his tickets. That's when the reality of what he'd been up to actually sunk in.

"You were about to wear my CROCS, weren't you!"

"No."

"Yes you were! You were looking for them there by the bookcase, and I have them on my feet! You were going to wear my CROCS outside to your truck!"

"Nooo..."

"Yes you were! Just admit it!"

"Well. I was going to. But they wasn't there."

"How often do you do that? Am I going to have to hide them? Wear your own Crocs! That's why I got them for you!"

"I don't know where mine are."

"Last time I saw them, they were with those other two pair of your shoes in front of the fireplace."

"They're not there now."

"Where could they possibly be? Either right there by the fireplace, or out on the porch."

"You know, they might be on top of Juno's doghouse."

"WHY?"

"I wore them outside the other day, and I got mud on them."

I was headed to look out the kitchen door at Juno's roof, when I saw Farmer H's Crocs under an extra chair by the front door. By his hoodie hoard.

"I KNEW you'd been wearing my CROCS! They've been feeling looser and looser from your fat feet."

"I wear them sometimes..."

"Cut it out! You have your own! By the kitchen door. You're welcome!"

See, these aren't my old red worn-down CROCS. These are my newer CROCS. I only wear them in the mornings, or when working in the kitchen. Not down to my lair all day.

I don't even want to ask Farmer H what shoes he wore out to SilverRedO when he couldn't find my CROCS. Pretty sure it was probably a pair of mine from behind the couch. When he starts wearing my clothes, we're going to have problems.

Oh, wait! I seem to recall a time when I sent The Pony upstairs for my Favorite Old Baby Blue Sweatshirt, and he was traumatized by seeing Farmer H walking across the room holding it over his private area, after coming in from Poolio.

I really have nothing to call my own.