I Think It's the Mark of a Psycho

Hick may be a genius with machines and construction, savvy at business, and pretty good with people skills. But nobody's perfect. Hick has a deficiency in common sense. He can barely prepare his own plate for supper.

Last night it was boneless/skinless chicken breast, stuffing, and a baked potato. Let the record show that Hick was offered slaw and a sliced tomato and salad, but declined. He said he wanted sour cream and cheese on his baked potato. This was a breeze for me to prepare, because we'd already had the chicken the day before, and the stuffing. We ran out of corn on the cob, so I offered the baked potato. All I had to do was warm chicken and stuffing in the oven, and microwave the potato.

A normal person would probably be able to come to kitchen and put that food on a plate without issue. No need for Val to hover over a normal person, micromanaging. But with Hick, it's different. Hick is not a normal person. I set out his plate (in this case, the yellow cafeteria tray) and silverware (including his precious paring knife), and the sour cream container with a designated spoon, and a bowl of shredded cheddar (because Hick is likely to reach an unwashed hand into the bag if I don't).

I stood by, with helpful suggestions, heh, heh.

"Do you want a longer knife to cut open your potato?"

"No. This little one is just fine."

Hick sliced the potato in half. You might think that sounds completely normal. You'd be wrong. Hick did not slice the potato lengthways, as every baked-potato-eater in the history of the world has done since the beginning of potatoes and knives. No. Hick sliced that potato across the middle. Like you might have two halves of a soft-boiled egg in two egg cups. 

WHAT KIND OF PSYCHO DOES THAT?

"Why in the world would you slice a baked potato like that? How are you going to put your cheese and sour cream on it?"

"I know what I'm doing, Val. I just don't do it the way you want me to do it."

Hick then cut down the middle of each potato half. They were in a V shape.

"I don't know how you think your cheese and sour cream are going to stay on the potato. Here! At least do THIS." I pulled the halves apart so they laid flat. "Wait. Why are you putting the sour cream on first?"

"It don't matter which I do first."

"Okay. Do the sour cream. It will get hot, and the shredded cheese will stay cold on top of the sour cream."

Hick put down the spoon. Picked up the bowl of shredded cheddar, grabbed handfuls, and dropped the clumps onto his potato quarters. THEN added the sour cream on top. I could tell he was totally confused by this concept of letting the cheese melt on the hot potato.

Baby steps. I'm trying to ease Hick into the world of normal food prep. Because I'm a giver like that. Hick is not a very good taker.

It shouldn't bother me how Hick fills his plate. He's an adult. He wants to eat in the living room. I don't have to watch. I could just as well dump everything into a portable trough and Hick would do just fine. But I keep trying to polish Hick into a normal-adjacent eater.