I would think our canine fleabags would be upset with Hick, since he has been usurping their cozy shelters of late. That man simply cannot stay out of the doghouse.
You'd think he might have learned by now. It's not for lack of Val telling him what to do. I suppose he simply has selective hearing. I know I've told him. I know YOU know I've told him. I daresay I could give you a quiz on the rules of Val's house, and you would all pass with flying colors. Except maybe Joe H, because he seems to be a contrarian sometimes. Not that there's anything wrong with that if you don't live in my house. I won't even call him that name his wife is so fond of.
Sunday was rainy and cool here in Backroads. I brewed up a cauldron of ham and beans. Don't think it was easy for me. I'm pretty much a warm-in-the-oven or heat-in-the-microwave cook. According to Hick. Uh huh. I know I am. But what is he? Yeah. I guess I told HIM if he ever figures out how to read my supersecret blog.
Great Northerns, they were. Using the second ham left over from Easter. A few plops of minced garlic, several generous splashes of Vlasic Mild Banana Pepper Rings juice, a sustained grinding of fresh black pepper, all simmered to a desirable thickness, served with a side of Jiffy Corn Muffins and I Can't Believe It's Not Butter. Yeah. I'm not getting my cooking show on the Food Network any time soon, am I?
Because I'm a bit of a gourmet, I prefer some sliced pepper rings in my bowl of cornbread/bean mush. Hick wanted only extra pepper juice, but said if I was slicing an onion, he would have some. So of course I sliced an onion. I left it on a plate on the kitchen counter for Hick to feed upon when he returned from his animal duties. We never have a sit-down meal. You never know when Hick is going to announce that he's off to Lowe's for some vital part for some gadget he broke.
Much later in the evening, near the stroke of midnight, I ascended the stairs from my dark basement lair. At the top, an odor struck me. I followed the near-invisible plume of scent, like in a cartoon featuring Pepe Le Pew, and arrived in the kitchen. All food had been cleared from the counter. I supposed that Hick had learned his lesson about not leaving onion slices there overnight. I reached for the door handle of Frig II to make sure that the bean pot was indeed stored away for leftovers.
IT HIT ME IN THE FACE LIKE THAT CHICKEN WING SLAP ON THE TUMS SMOOTHIES COMMERCIAL!
Not the pot of beans. The onion smell. Whew! So strong. But I didn't see any onions. I shoved a few items around on the top shelf. And there it was. A baggie full of leftover sliced onions. Who does that? Why would you save sliced onions? They stink! And they lose their flavor. I don't think the price of one onion is going to send Thevictorians to the poorhouse. But if it does, I would totally get a kid like Oliver Twist to be the scapegoat and ask for more gruel.
I grabbed that offensive food bundle and took it out on the back porch and shook those onions out onto the ground below. Then I zipped the lock on that baggie and stuffed it down in the trash.
I know I have told Hick that we don't save sliced onions.
Of course, after a few hours in the bed beside Hick, I was wishing for that onion smell again.