Strange things happen around our house all the time. I refuse to believe that it's because I'm strange. Stuff happens. It's my job to figure out why.
Yesterday I relayed (heh, heh, the subject was ELECTRICITY, and I said RELAYed...guess you have to be the wife of a man who does factory electrical work and mom of an electrical engineer to get that) how our power went off three times at 3:00 a.m. on Sunday night/Monday morning. Hmm...I'm starting to wonder if 3:00 a.m. really is the witching hour. LAST night/early this morning, again at 3:00 a.m., the light bulb over the area by the TV and my new OPC (Old People Chair) started to dim. It brightened up. Dimmed. Brightened. FIZZLED OUT! It's still off today, so maybe it just burned out at that coincidental time.
The kitchen has also been the scene of lighting/electrical phenomena. Nothing recent, though. It's other stuff I find in the kitchen. I could swear my pans in the big metal drawer under the oven have been rearranged. The drawer with the big spoons and spatulas and dipper and cheese grater seems to have been ransacked, not wanting to close because things aren't nested the way I usually store them. Sometimes a bowl has specks of dried cheese on it, yet I've been doing dishes all my life by hand, and should know better. I even asked Hick if he'd been into that oven drawer when I put my muffin pan back in there the other day. He said he never messes with the dishes.
On Sunday morning, I woke up to see Hick standing over in the corner of the bedroom. That's a bit unusual. He's usually bouncing me up and down on the mattress (like I'm a jolly good fellow in a blanket toss) as he puts on his socks. Or he's flipping on the 2000-watt lights he recently installed in the ceiling fixture. Or slamming the bedroom door to shut out noise so he doesn't disturb me. So it was odd that I woke up to no jouncing or light or noise, and saw him standing there in his tighty-whities in the early morning light.
"What are you doing?"
"Just getting my clothes. I FREEZING!" And with that, Hick slithered back under the quilt, jouncing and flopping and yanking the covers and TALKING to me like I hadn't just gone to bed four hours previous.
"Well, I guess there's no going back to sleep now."
"Val. It's SEVEN O'CLOCK!"
"You may have slept for ten hours already, but I just went to bed at 3:00. I'd hoped to sleep some more."
"I don't care if you sleep. Go ahead."
"That's easy for you to SAY! Now I'm wide awake. I thought you were getting your clothes. Ready to leave to wherever it is you go every morning."
"I'm going to work on HOS's electric in his trailer. But first I'm going to take a shower."
That was odd. I assumed that Hick was out of the shower, gathering his clothes. That's how it usually works. Why would he get up and gather clothes and then be freezing? Peculiar. I tried to go back to sleep while Hick was in the shower, but that wasn't happening. He got out and dressed and left, and I gave up. I got up and went to the kitchen for my medicine.
That's odd. The paper plate I had on a tray that I'd carried up from the basement at 3:00 a.m. was gone. Hick never throws anything away! And the winning lottery tickets that had also been on that tray were laying on the kitchen counter, where I prep the food. AND two spoons from Hick's after-supper snack that had been laying beside the sink were gone. This was a case for Mystery Inc. Jessica Fletcher. Columbo.
When Hick returned for lunch, I quizzed him on the lottery tickets.
"Why were my tickets laying on the counter."
"Why were your tickets laying on the counter?"
"Oh. I moved them."
"And where's my plate?"
"Your plate? What plate?"
"The paper plate that was on my tray with the lottery tickets under it."
"Oh. I threw it away."
"You NEVER straighten up the kitchen! Why did you do that?"
"Why did I do that?"
"Oh. I made myself some eggs."
Let the record show that there was no sign of egg-making. No pan, no spatula, no plate, no bowl, no fork. Hick hasn't gotten eggs from his remaining chickens for a month or more. I have two cartons of eggs in FRIG II that are store-bought.
"Where did you get the eggs?"
"Where did I get the eggs?"
"Oh. From the refrigerator."
"WHICH eggs did you use? Because one carton was hard-boiled."
"Yeah. I was going to tell you about that. I cracked one of them and found out."
"So you made eggs and then got rid of all the evidence! WHY do you do that? It's not the first time I've caught you doing that! WHO does that? Makes eggs and then washes the pan and puts it away? That means you had to dry it. Nothing in the sink drainer with the other dishes to put away. AND you never wash anything else! Just your own stuff! What if I did that?"
"I do too wash other stuff."
"Huh. This would be the first time. Besides, there was NOTHING there to wash. I did the dishes after supper!"
"I washed them two spoons layin' there by the sink. See? I do things around here."
I swear. Hick had gotten up, closed the bedroom door so as not to "bother" me, secretly made eggs for himself, washed the pan and spatula and fork, and two spoons, put them away, (all the while in his tighty-whities, mind you), and then come into the bedroom freezing before his shower.
I assumed that Hick had used an egg and thought I would notice that it was missing. That's why he was "going to" tell me. When I noticed. I might have, I don't know. It's been a while since I boiled them, and I vaguely recalled having six boiled eggs on hand. They were probably getting old. I got out that carton, and found THIS:
I could tell the minute I opened the carton that it was time to throw them out. YET HICK HAD PUT THAT CRACKED EGG BACK IN THE CARTON!
WHO DOES THAT?