Sweet Gummi Mary! Nobody can be this dumb or awkward! It's gotta be premeditated! To get Mrs. HM all worked up with veins in her crazy twirly finger temple area popping out and throbbing.
Thursday night, Farmer H grilled four sausage patties to go with our leftover sides from the Labor Day feast. I was inside, warming his Corningwear bowl of baked beans in the oven. Setting out his plate and buns and the deviled egg container. Slicing his onion and tomato. Farmer H brought in a foil-covered pizza pan with the four sausages, and set it on the stovetop.
Let the record show that my stove is old-style. Coiled metal burners with drip pans. Four. The back left burner was covered with another pizza pan and metal tray. Clean, not in use, just waiting until they were needed. They always sit there.
The front right burner is where Farmer H set the pizza pan of sausages, oozing juices that would be good later for dipping the dog bread in for treats. I was still slicing up the remainder of Farmer H's tomato.
"Your two slices of onion and tomato for your sandwiches are next to each other. The extra onion slices are by themselves. I'm chunking up the rest of your tomato in a bowl. You can get your beans out of the oven. You'll need a mitt. They're hot."
Farmer H fetched his beans and put them all on his plate. He brought the empty Corningware bowl over to the stovetop and set it on the back right burner.
"No. I've told you a million times, that is the hot burner. Heat comes up from the oven. That will burn those bean juices even more, and make it harder to wash."
With a heavy sigh, Farmer H pulled the bean bowl back, and grabbed the sausage pan to move to that back hot burner!
"What are you doing? They will also burn!"
In a huff, Farmer H dragged the sausage pan back to the front burner, slopping those juices all over the stovetop I had just cleaned on Monday. Then he yelled at me that I keep yelling at him. And tried to move the pans from the back left burner over to the hot burner.
"Just put that bean bowl on the left front! How hard is that? Why can't you see that? It's an empty burner, not hot. That's all you had to do! Not move everything around!"
"You're never happy!"
"I'm really not happy now, with you walking off, leaving that sausage juice for me to clean up!"
"FINE! I'll clean it up!"
"You're always making more work for me!"
"I cooked."
"I will gladly spend 20 minutes cooking, any time you want to plan the meal and buy the food and make the sides and then clean up."
Funny how Farmer H had no response to that. And that he had eschewed the thin onion slices designated for his sandwich, and used the uneven, chunky leftover slices instead.
The dogs will not be pleased with getting only 1/3 of the grease on their bread treat.
4 comments:
Tsk "I cooked" as if that was the hardest and most time consuming part. Typical male thinking there. Sorry about your stove top though.
River,
Farmer H's "cooking" consisted of carrying out the 4 sausage patties, putting them on GassyG Jr, sitting in a chair talking to the dogs, then flipping them once before carrying them in the Mansion after 20 minutes. He didn't even take a spatula to smoosh them. They looked like meatballs! They puffed up in the middle. Heh, heh. I like the thought of him trying to eat them on the bun with the thick onion slices and tomato sliding around.
Farmer H took 4 paper towels and swiped at the grease. I would have been better off telling him to leave it, and wiping the dog bread through it before cleaning again. At least they could have enjoyed their treat.
I am laughing! FOUR paper towels, they are brothers, I swear they are!
Kathy,
Yes. We are married to the same man. "Helping" us into the grave with their shenanigans, whether consciously plotted, or sadly oblivious.
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