Saturday, March 26, 2011

Cleanliness Is Next To Impossible

I have a little bone to pick with Farmer H.

On Thursday evening, The Pony and I returned to the Mansion after running some after-school errands. I was a bit frazzled, having spent the immediate time after the final bell substitute-proofing my classroom, having a civil discourse with Arch Nemesis (who selflessly volunteered to make sure my science fair students made it on their bus the next morning, so I would not have to drive to Newmentia), then making a trip to the bank to deposit money for the #1 son (who had earned it stripping copper wire with Junker H) and cash in a cup of quarters ($34.00 worth, which I suspect he skimmed from me over the last two months), gassing up T-Hoe, picking up prescriptions (for which I am charged a different amount each month, requiring an inquisition, resulting in a forgotten ring-up that I had to backtrack to pay before their auditors found it and summoned me), and finally grabbing some gas station chicken for a comfort meal on Bowler H's night out.

I was not pleased with the sight that greeted me from the food-staging area of my speckled burgundy countertop. "Hello, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Wet, Wadded-Up Paper Towel. I am just relaxing here on this lovely countertop, enjoying myself until the time my presence is requested in that yonder large blue wastebasket under the counter, in the nook occupied in more stately homes by the dishwasher. How is your day progressing, my fine madam?"

Not being of the ilk to proffer hospitality to uninvited guests, I immediately called for King H. "What's this on the counter?"

Several minutes of hem-hawing later, King H announced that he had used conjoined Bounty select-a-sizes to wash off the day's basket of fresh eggs. Let the full horror sink into your bones, down to the very marrow. Farmer H left a wet, chicken-poopy paper towel on the counter where I dice and slice, lop and chop, gut and cut our family foodstuffs.

Farmer H's defense was that he did not mean to leave it there, and that it was not dirty, because he used it to clean the eggs. He furthermore expounded that eggs do NOT come out of a chicken's butt, so I should clamp my trap about finding a poopy paper towel in the area where I set our food. In addition, he could not understand why I would think that a paper towel used to wipe poop off of eggs after the chickens have wallowed their butts on them and perhaps played a game of egg soccer on a manure field would be host to actual chicken poop, instead of just the clean water that he had run it under before wiping poop off the eggs with it.

Look for my upcoming cookbook: Salmonella Dishes from the Heartland.


Mommy Needs a Xanax said...

If that's the worst he leaves out, I'll trade ya. Mine has recently fallen into the habit of taking a poopy diaper off the young'un, dropping it in front of the toilet (or where ever) and then "forgetting" to pick it up and throw it away after he gets the young'un in a fresh Pull Up. So if he'll leave an actual pile of poop in the bathroom floor, I'll leave what goes on in the kitchen up to your imagination.

Kathy's Klothesline said...

They are related. He who and the egg washer. He who empties his pockets on a different surface daily. I am always confused that he would think I would want to save his pocket lint. But back to the subject "at hand" ..... my husband will sometimes leave used disposable gloves hither and dither. Paper towels and chicken poop really seems minor when compared to gloves that have handled sewer situations. I keep a bleach and water solution in a spray bottle close at hand (hands, again).

Hillbilly Mom said...

How'd ya get him to change a diaper?

Farmer H tells the tale of when The Veteran was a baby, and H was left at home with him. He saw the baby's diaper drooping, and wrapped duct tape around his waist to hold it on until his momma got home.

Indeed, they must share DNA. This weekend, Master Plumber H took apart some sewer pipes INSIDE the Mansion to attach the air conditioner dehumidifying hose dealybobby. It had been set by MPH one way since he built the Mansion back in '97, but a recent spate of water leakage during the heat wave last week made him rework the pipes.

I don't want to know what he touched or where he washed his hands.

labbie1 said...

"He saw the baby's diaper drooping, and wrapped duct tape around his waist to hold it on until his momma got home."

OHMYGOSH!!!! That is just HILARIOUS!!!!! Talk about the Mother of Invention...OHMYGOSH!!!! LOL!!!!

Just be glad farmerH will WASH the eggs--and dry them...

HubbyG (maybe I should call him Gman?) wouldn't even bring the eggs IN let alone wash 'em...

I HAVE recently gotten him to pick up after the dog he is walking so I don't have to backtrack and risk leash burns while trying to keep all of them from getting tangled...THIS is REAL progress...

Hillbilly Mom said...

You must be a good trainer.

Farmer H usually sends The Pony to gather eggs, but since it has been dark through the winter, and not many eggs, he has been doing it himself when he feeds. Now that we're getting 9 eggs a day, he's ready to delegate the job again.