We are only on Day 2 of the Interminable Farmer H Takeover of the Mansion. Things do not run smoothly when he is underfoot. He seems to think we are all under his foot. We must ask HOW HIGH SIR when he tells us to jump. It's immediate. No dawdling, no ruminating, no explanations. That's his style. Not ours.
Never mind that he disappears at the crack of 8:00 a.m. and is not seen again until 2:00. We'd better be lined up waiting, with the proper shirt, like the soldiers of Gunny Highway, as depicted by Clint Eastwood, in Heartbreak Ridge. Our mission might be to find and purchase and hold out to his hot, heavy hand within 10 minutes a roll of Egyptian-themed wallpaper for The Pony's room. Or to find his soft-sided fanny-pack cooler so he can take it to the Cardinals' game in two hours (and not complain when he asks each one of us what we did with it, and especially not complain when the #1 son finds it in the back of Farmer H's everyday automobile). Or to gather eggs NOW like they are filled with nitroglycerin, and the New Madrid Fault is set to reverse the flow of the Mississippi River in the next 10 seconds. After our missions are completed or commenced to his satisfaction, Farmer H settles himself into Poolio for a two-hour soak while the rest of the Hillbilly household breathes a collective sigh of relief.
Farmer H: all the bluster of a gunnery sergeant, but without the military training.