I was starting to feel like I am living in Fantasyland, and not Hillmomba! Farmer H got T-Hoe fixed. He brought home a heated water bowl and bag of cedar shavings for Jack. He put new batteries in my garage door opener and T-Hoe's clicker. He gave me that giant box of chocolates for our anniversary, plus a card with a handwritten message!!!
Last night, that gravy train came screeching to a halt. The phonograph needle scratched the record. The other shoe dropped. The party is over.
I was getting Farmer H's supper warmed up. It was BBQ pulled pork on hot dog buns, with a side of potato coins. So simple. You might imagine that even a hick could do it...
I know better.
The potato coins were in the oven at 425 degrees, almost ready, just crisping the edges. The BBQ pulled pork was in a glass bowl in the microwave. I set out a plate for Farmer H on the cutting block. I set the package of hot dog buns on top. Surely I don't need to do EVERYTHING for him! I didn't want the buns to get stale sitting on the plate. I had drained three flat pickle slices. They were singly a little short to fit on the bun, so I cut the third one in half to fill in.
"Hey! Will you want the ketchup? In a ramekin, or will you put it on the plate? Will you use a fork, or your hands?"
Farmer H said he'd put ketchup on his plate, and that he'd use a fork for the potato coins. I laid a fork across the top of the bun package, and set out the ketchup bottle, along with a paper towel. I heard Farmer H groan in getting up from his recliner.
"My eye itches! I'm going to put in my eye drops."
"Okay. Then you can some get your buns ready."
Welp! Here came Farmer H directly to the kitchen!
"What are you doing here? I thought you were putting in eye drops."
"Oh. Well. I was going to. Didn't you say it's ready?"
"Yeah, I said AFTER your eye drops. But you can go ahead. I just had another 30 seconds on the BBQ."
I turned the microwave on as Farmer H stepped up to the cutting block. Over my shoulder, I heard something hit the floor.
"What was that?"
"My fork. I didn't see it on the buns."
I resisted the urge to ask, "ARE YOU BLIND?" Because he is. In one eye. I saw Farmer H put the package of buns away. Baby steps! As I turned sideways to take the potato coins out of the oven, I saw Farmer H's plate. It held one bun, and two half-buns. Ripped in half, across the middle.
"What in the Not-Heaven?"
"It tore when I was getting out my buns."
"I guess I need to do EVERYTHING for you! Next I'll have to cut up your food and feed it to you!"
"I can get my food, HM. Just not the way YOU want me to."
"Just not the way a NORMAL person would do it, you mean..."
I used my oven mitts to take the glass bowl of BBQ pulled pork out of the microwave and set it on the cutting block beside Farmer H's plate. He was busy putting one flat pickle on his regular bun, the other flat pickle on the big half of his torn bun, a half flat pickle onto the small half of his torn bun, and the other half flat pickle into his mouth.
"This bowl is HOT! It will burn you. DO NOT touch the bowl."
Farmer H looked at me like I was crazy.
We all know I saved him from a trip to the burn ward.
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