Survival Of The Foolishest

I swear, I might as well be chewing up Farmer H's food and spitting it into his mouth like a mama bird feeding a baby bird. As much as I try to simplify his meal delivery, Farmer H makes it seem like a knowledge of rocket science is necessary to feed himself.

Saturday evening, I warmed up leftover pasta for Farmer H. I put his garlic toast in the oven. I set out a (deluxe) paper plate on the cutting board, with a paper towel to wipe his hands, and a fork for eating the rotini with mushrooms and hamburger in the sauce. I called Farmer H to the kitchen to pick up his food, which he prefers to consume in his recliner in front of the TV. As he entered the kitchen, I said:

"I put it in the microwave to melt the cheese on top."

Farmer H was behind me as I was swiping out the saucepan I'd used to warm his pasta, with a slice of bread that would become a dog treat the next day. He picked up his two slices of garlic toast from the pan on top of the stove. Then he was back at the cutting block, saying:

"Well. Where is it?"

As if I had hidden his pasta from him! Or left it in FRIG II without warming!

"I TOLD you I put it in the microwave to try and melt the cheese on top."

"I didn't hear you."

"And now you've wasted a paper plate!"

"I put my bread on it. It's fine. It's not dirty."

"Yes it is! That bread is greasy!"

Farmer H "discovered" his bowl of pasta topped with cheese that I had "hidden" in the microwave.

"This plate isn't dirty. I'll put it back."

"That plate is definitely dirty, because I set the bowl on it while dipping your pasta, and I dropped several chunks of hamburger on it."

"Huh. Well..."

"Put one of the plates back on the stack. Since you say they're not dirty, you can eat off one tomorrow!"

"That don't bother me none."

This is why I tell Farmer H that he needs to get a hearing aid. Yet all he ever says is "I don't NEED no hearing aid!"