Overconfidence Does Not Cure Helplessness

Here we go again. Some people should not be allowed in a kitchen. Not for the simplest of tasks. I'm sure you know who we're about to discuss. I'm sure you will not be surprised at the outcome. I could just stop here, and let you each use your imagination to pick the atrocity inflicted on my kitchen, but I'll leave that exercise for another time.

Friday evening, Farmer H came home a little later than 5:00. Of course that meant he wasn't there to carry in the 8-lb pack of center-loin pork chops that I bought for him to grill on Sunday. I had the groceries carried in, and had just sat down with my scratchers when he arrived. He had stopped to buy colored pencils for his NEW LOVE, the wooden sign made for his SUS2.5 by a buddy.

Anyhoo... supper was just going to be a section of the BIG SANDWICH that I had bought at Country Mart on Thursday. I had already carved it up, with a single serving for each of us in our own color-coded Chinese Tupperware containers on the bottom shelf of FRIG II. He was having potato chips on the side, and a dill pickle spear.

"I guess you want me to set out your pickle for you..." (I usually set it on a folded paper towel to drain off the liquid before it gets put on the plate.)

"No. I can get it."

"Well, let me tell you how."

"I think I can get a pickle, HM."

"I don't. You need to get a fork. A CLEAN fork! And the jar is on the bottom shelf of the door. Closest to the hinge."

Farmer H got out the pickles and took off the lid. "There's one sticking up right there. I can just use my fingers."

"NO! You'll get your dirty fingers in the liquid."

"I'm not gettin' my dirty fingers in the liquid, HM. See there?"

"You are tilting the jar! And the pickles fell down to that side. With the liquid!"

"No. I'm just grabbing a pickle."

"You have that jar practically on its side! GRAVITY! The liquid runs that way."

"It's fine. I didn't get my fingers in the liquid."

Sure he didn't. Funny thing, much later that night, when I went to FRIG II to get my own sandwich and pickle, my CROC stuck to the floor. Then made that sticky noise when I stepped back. I took a look at the floor. Halfway between the cutting block and FRIG II was a stain. Shaped kind of like a triangle, invisible unless I leaned back and looked at an angle. Mostly transparent, barely opaque, with a slight tint of greenish gray.

A fork would have prevented that problem. Me getting up to get out his pickle myself would have been easier than scrubbing pickle juice off the floor.

How can Farmer H not do the simplest thing without making a big mess?