You know I've been hoping that Farmer H will finally get an oil change for T-Hoe. The warning light has only been on for six months now. I've asked many times. More than once a month. Farmer H has, in the meantime, gotten oil changes for SilverRedO and A-Cad, on consecutive days! But poor T-Hoe only gets a quart added here and there.
I shouldn't have to spend my valuable time wishing for such a basic service. The autos are Farmer H's responsibility, and he's shirking! How dare I hitch my wagon to a star! I'm shooting for the moon with this outrageously selfish demand!
Anyhoo... when I picked up The Pony for our BBQ on Thursday, we stopped by Country Mart for some provisions. As I pushed my cart/walker out to T-Hoe's rear to load them, I noticed the right rear tire.
"Is it just me, or does that tire look low?"
"Huh. Let me see." The Pony took a look, and walked to the right front tire as well. "Yeah. It seems low, compared to the other one."
"I wouldn't know for sure. The back tires are the ones where the sensors don't work. So the low tire symbol is always on, because T-Hoe thinks they have ZERO pounds of air pressure."
The Pony told Farmer H when he came in, as we were sitting at the table binge-watching Derry Girls on The Pony's laptop.
"Huh. I better take it over to the BARn and check." Said Farmer H, turning on his heel.
Maybe having The Pony bring up such matters is the way to go! Anyhoo... what happened after that was typical Farmer H behavior.
I went out to the garage on Friday. I looked at T-Hoe's right rear tire, to make sure that it hadn't deflated any more. It looked okay. I opened the driver's door to climb in.
THE DOOR WOULD NOT OPEN ALL THE WAY!
Farmer H KNOWS I need that door to open completely, to get my knees inside. I have told him this time and again. T-Hoe must be parked in the garage so that the door opens all the way. Which means between the 2x4 studs. Otherwise, it slams into the 2x4s, and the door can only partially open. I can't bend my knees tight enough to get my feet in.
This time, I got the right leg in, but took three tries to squeeze in the left one. I had to grab my pants leg and force the knee to bend tighter. It was uncomfortable.
Once inside, I noticed the steering wheel was almost on the ceiling! Okay, that might be a bit of an exaggeration, but it had been moved to the highest notch. I don't drive like that. I had to click the lever and put it down.
No, these are not attempted-killing-me actions. But Farmer H should at least show enough respect to park and try the door before shutting down T-Hoe and leaving him in the garage. And put the steering wheel back like it was. Of course I had to inform Farmer H of the error of his ways. Not that it will do any good.
"Hey, you parked where I couldn't get the door all the way open! It took me three tries, and it hurt. I've told you to make sure the door opens all the way. AND, I don't want to reach up to the sky to steer! I had to put the steering wheel back like I had it."
"I didn't move the seat."
"I never said you moved the seat."
"Well, I have to be able to drive! For my feet to reach the pedals!"
"It was only to the BARn and back. What are you, a 7-Little-Johnston?"
"No. I thought I put everything back like it was."
Let the record show that Farmer H is my height. 5' 8". I have no problem reaching the pedals with my feet. Are we to believe that Farmer H has extra-short legs, and an extra-long torso? Let me answer for you: NO. Farmer H LIKES to drive with his seat pulled all the way forward, the steering wheel rubbing against his belly. It is not a necessity due to his appendages.
At least he put air in the tire. Now, I need to have The Pony complain about the oil.
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