The Further Transgressions Of Farmer H

Sometimes, Farmer H annoys me. Yes. I see you all, turning to each other, shrugging, palms to the sky, muttering, "Who woulda thought..."

I can hold in my peevishness for a little while. It takes a lot of effort. And then my nerves of steel snap like Young Future Mrs. HM's ulna when she took a tumble roller-skating on the sidewalk around her grandpa's fireplace.

"WHY DON'T YOU JUST LICK THE BOWL!!!"

Farmer H is a clinker. I shudder every time I serve something that is eaten in a bowl, using a spoon. Every single bite, Farmer H clinks the metal spoon against the glass bowl. Oh, and he eats with a serving spoon. So it's an extra-loud clink. This time, he was eating my vegetable beef soup. That clink carried, unmolested, not even muffled by the couch cushions and carpet, from recliner to the kitchen table, where I was listening to music while scratching lottery tickets, until Spotify went down.

Sweet Gummi Mary! Is it really necessary to clink each dip of the spoon? He sounded like he was trying to get a ballroom packed with wedding guests to pay attention for a toast. It was bad enough when he had just sat down, with a bowl full of soup. As you well know, it was solid soup. Though not a towering bowl. THEN, near the end, Farmer H was scraping the remaining particles of soup off the side, with the vigor required to remove barnacles from a ship's hull.

I might have been able to deal with this transgression, had Farmer H not already used up my good will (granted, it's about the size of a mustard seed, and could be worn in a see-through heart-shaped charm like the one I had in grade school) a few days earlier with his shenanigans of entitledness.

I came home Monday to find that Farmer H had poured his own drink during my absence, using MY Shasta Diet Cola from the second shelf of FRIG II. Farmer H's sodas are on the top shelf. Always have been. His Diet Mountain Dews, and this past week's Diet Cokes which he bought instead. Along with a can of Shasta Diet Cola that I put there for when he has a Wild Turkey. Never mind that our Shasta Diet Colas are identical. It's the principle, dang it! I want MY soda from my shelf. Not to reach into an empty space, and have to look around for it. He has his soda on his shelf. When pressed on the reason for his decision, Farmer H replied,

"I just took one when I saw it."

Oh, but that's not all! To accompany his cocktail, Farmer H had an individual bag of chips. He chose the plain chips with ridges. They're his favorite. I always leave them for him in the multi-pack of assorted chips. However... Farmer H opened the new multi-pack and removed his bag of chips. When there was one left from the old multi-pack with an expiration date of December 4. It is only logical to use the older chips first. But no. Farmer H was entitled to the NEW chips.

"I figure I should be able to eat anything in my own house."

Yes. Anything thought of, put on a list, searched for on a shelf, purchased, bagged, loaded, unloaded, carried in, and put away by Mrs. HM.

The King of the Castle rules the Mansion. Mrs. HM just lives there out of his good graces.