Hick Deflects Blame Like a Stanley Cup Goalie Deflects a Puck

Hick and I got into it over a purloined bagel the other day. And by "got into it" I mean I asked a simple question, and Hick ended up stomping downstairs in his mud-dispensing boots, waving his arms dramatically.

Last week, Hick asked The Pony to ask me if he could have a bagel. I had just bought a bag of Lender's at Walmart, along with regular and strawberry cream cheese. Sure, I said, Hick could have a bagel. It's not like I'm hoarding them. They're not even wrapped in foil on the back bottom shelf of Frig II where Hick would never look. But then Hick started taking liberties. He would only eat the strawberry cream cheese. And he ate over half the bag of bagels.

Let the record show that Val does not eat a whole bagel at a time, but only a half. Five days in a work week. Val ate two and a half bagels. She distinctly remembers leaving a half-bagel sitting on top of a whole bagel in the bag on Friday morning. Yet on Saturday evening, when Val went to get her half-bagel to cover with regular cream cheese and accompany a piece of gas station chicken, her Frig II was bare of Lender's bagels. She sat down in the La-Z-Boy to review her meal options. Hick, with an hour to spare before primping for his murder mystery dinner, plopped down on the short couch.

"Did you eat my half-bagel?"

"No."

"Well, I said you could have a bagel, and then you kept eating them, and now my half-bagel is gone."

"I don't know where your half-bagel is! It's probably somewhere in the refrigerator!"

Let the record show that Hick emphasized SOMEWHERE in kind of a snotty manner.

"What do you mean by that? That I'm such a terrible housekeeper that I can lose a whole half-bagel? Is that what you're getting at? Because you're welcome to clean out the refrigerator any time you think it needs cleaning."

"I threw away a piece of cheese the other day that was GREEN!"

"Good. It's about time you threw something away, instead of just leaving it there for me."

"You act like I don't do anything around here!" [Technically, that is not true. Hick tracks in truckloads of mud clods. And leaves other messes for me to clean up. But I didn't think this was the time for me to point that out. All I had originally wanted to know was if he ate my half-bagel.] "I do a lot. Every day you start in with something. I am not even going to argue with you about it!" Said Hick. Not arguing. Tromping down the basement steps in his clod-dropping boots, flapping his arms like a broken helicopter.

Let the record show that Hick THINKS he does a lot more than the record shows. For instance, the times he "helps" Val by cleaning up part of his own mess. Hick always has to rush out the door as soon as he comes in, to tend to his animals, admire his sheds, putter around in the BARn, and probably host clandestine poker games in the BARn loft. Val does not complain. Hick works hard, and if he wants to play before eating, so be it. Which does not mean that Val will hold off serving supper until 8:00 p.m. She was raised with supper at 5:00, and by cracky, Val is serving supper at 5:00. So Hick asks to have his food left on the stove until he's ready to warm it. This wreaks havoc with Val's hand-washing of the dishes, but she complies.

The other night, Val used the leftover chili to whip up some chili dogs for Hick. He loves them, you know. They contain hots dogs, one of his major food groups. So Val warmed the chili, cooked the hot dogs, grated some cheese, diced an onion, and laid out the bag of buns. When she came upstairs at 2:00 a.m., she saw that Hick had "washed" the pan for her.

Uh huh. To Hick, that's a clean pan. Never mind the dried-on chili stuck to the side. The white water deposit I'm not worried about. It comes out with a dab of vinegar. But no way would I cook in that pan without scrubbing it. By hand. Hick could have left it in the sink with water in it, and the future washing would have been easier. But to him, he really helped me by washing out that pan.

Then we get to the next night. The chicken wing night. All he had to do was pick up his chicken wings off the foil-covered pan and throw the foil away. But no. Apparently throwing foil away is women's work. Why would anybody LEAVE THAT USED FOIL ON THE PAN? It's not like it can be re-used. Or like we save it for scrap to get cash for it. LOOK AT IT!

That is pure laziness. That is called having a wife to act as your servant because you are a very special man-person who doesn't have to pick up after yourself. I need to call the representative of the Homeless Muffin Stump Rejectors Association, Rebecca DeMornay, to inform Hick that neither the homeless, nor Val Thevictorian, want his used chicken wing foil.

I know Hick ate my half-bagel. Pointing the green cheese finger at my Frig-keeping skills was his way of sidetracking me so he could dodge the issue.

Even Steven will settle this in good time. I have no doubt.