He's a Picker, He's a Chooser, He's a Kitchen Chore Abuser

Seems like the rich tapestry of my life with Hick has so many threads that it should be hanging in a High Thread Count Rich Tapestry of Life Museum!

Last week, I made Hick his Thanksgiving ham. You know, the meal he missed when we spent Thanksgiving week visiting The Pony, gorging on two buffets per day. Hick was okay with missing a turkey, but he really wanted some ham. Oh, and Hick prefers his ham to be the already-sliced kind. Not even a spiral ham, because the bone gets in his way, even though it makes a good pot of beans later.

Anyhoo...I got a nice sliced ham and baked it. Which was really just warming it in the oven, (the extent of most of my cooking), according to Hick because it was already fully-cooked. Hick agreed, after much arm-twisting to get him to make a decision, that roasted potatoes/carrots/onions would be good with his sliced ham. I make them with bacon draped over them, so there's bacon, too! And some Sister Schubert's Rolls.

This gave us food for several days, and Hick declared that he could warm up his own meal on certain auction days, depending on what time he was leaving. Who was I to stand in the way of his independence?

Nearing the end of the bountiful Thanksgiving leftover season, I came upstairs to find one of my plastic former-Chinese-carryout containers beside the sink.

"You ate ALL THAT HAM?"

"I told you I was having ham and eggs, Val."

"There were 15 pieces of ham left! A full container! I was going to make beans tomorrow!"

"Oh. I didn't eat ALL the ham. There's still some left. I only had three pieces."

"Then why is the container empty beside the sink?"

"That's from the bacon."

"I forgot about the bacon. You ate ALL THE BACON? I was going to have some on my Chicken Bacon Ranch Pinwheels, but I forgot about it."

"There were only five pieces left. So I ate them. With my ham and eggs."

"Where's your skillet?"

"I washed it. And the spatula."

"You mean you washed the SKILLET, and the SPATULA, but left the bacon container on the counter next to the sink?"

"I didn't even think of it. Would you rather I left the skillet and the spatula?"

"No. But it would only make sense to do ALL your dishes, not just the ones you pick and choose."

"It's easy to wash the skillet. Just run water on it. And a little soap."

"Exactly! Did you use cold water? Like usual? Because the hot takes too long?"

"No. Hot."

"Then why couldn't you do the greasy bacon container, too?"

"I don't know. I just didn't think of it."

"Well, I've spent my whole LIFE with it being my DUTY to think of other people. That's why I get so fed up with your crap."

"It's nothing, Val. Why are you so mad over a little thing? It's nothing."

"You say. THIS IS WHY! You say it's nothing! Did you make ME any eggs and ham?"

"No. I didn't think about it."

"EXACTLY!"

"I figure you have a mouth. If you want some you can tell me. You knew I was making it."

"Yet I make your supper when I make mine, without you telling me you want it. OR I make your supper, even if I'm not going to be having any."

SERIOUSLY? He's proud of himself for washing his own skillet and spatula? He's like the little kid in Big Daddy, so proud that he wipes his own butt.