HH Has A Bee In His Bonnet

HH has a bee in his bonnet. OK. He doesn't really wear a bonnet.
That would just be creepy. Like a little baby with a giant adult man's
head in its frilly little bonnet. And that bonnet would get the worst
end of that deal, what with HH's head sweating all the time, especially
when he eats hot wings or jalapenos, or mows the yard wearing one
of his collection of 1500 hats, which seem to multiply if they are not
carefully supervised, and if that were the case, he would not need a
bonnet because DUH, he is already wearing a hat! Try to follow along,
will you? HH is not exactly Sarah, Plain & Tall, either, another great
bonnet-wearer in fictionalized history. He is more like Scary, A Pain
to All. And while I'm at it, let me also confess that there is no actual bee.
The last time HH met up with the stinging vermin was when he mowed
the dirt over in the barn field, and disturbed a nest of yellow-jackets.
They let him know they were displeased. HH came to the house and
took a benadryl, just in case his throat was wont to close up. It didn't.

No, HH has a virtual bee in his virtual bonnet. He has taken the whole
week off, and is working on various projects about the Mansion. Job
One was hooking up water to the basement bathroom. Oh, we've
had a flush toilet for the past 8 years. It's the sink that was dry. Hey!
We still washed our hands--with GermX. But NOW we have running
water. WooHoo! We are living in modern times! I'm going to set
free the pterodactyl phonograph needle and get me one of those
newfangled CD players!

Job Two was putting in a ceiling in the basement. It used to be just
the floor joists and the plumbing and the Romex wire weaving a
wicked web over our heads. Now HH has put up some particle
board. Not all over the whole basement, mind you. That might
take another 8 years. But he has started with 4 pieces right over
the boys' GameCube. Which of course is covered in splinters of
wood and sawdust.

Job Three was eating tonight's supper for lunch. I told him last
night, as he was sawing up the meat loaf, "Put the rest of it in the
small dish, and we'll have it for supper tomorrow." I think what
he heard was "When I'm out of the house tomorrow, use this for
your feeding frenzy." Imagine my surprise when I rushed home
an hour and a half after work was over, having deposited my
hard-earned money in the bank, ready to start my second job
here at the Mansion, took the foil off the Pyrex, and saw that
my meat loaf was half the meal it used to be. It was sitting all
cattywompus in the dish, too, like it had tried to run away from
the knife. I quizzed the air in general. "What happened to the
meat loaf we were going to have for supper?" HH came in and
looked at it. He sure seemed surprised. "Well, I had one thin
slice for a sandwich." This is the man who fit an entire pot roast
into his bowl when we had vegetable beef soup. It was piled up
like Marge Simpson's hair. Only it wasn't blue. I'm not that great
a cook, but my beef doesn't turn blue when I cook it. I knew
that 'one thin slice' for HH was a giant slab for mankind. Then
more truth spilled out, upon the cross-examination.

"You had a half-sandwich, with just one piece of bread?"
"No. I had two pieces of bread."
"So you had two slices of meat loaf?"
"Okaayyy. I had two thin slices of meat loaf."
"Then why is half of it gone?"
"The Veteran was helping me work. He had a sandwich, too."
"Didn't I just ask you Sunday if you wanted anything from the store?"
"I didn't."
"Didn't you know you'd be home all week, and need lunch?"
"I didn't think of it."

EEEEEEEEE! It doesn't pay to cook ahead at the Mansion. You'll
still have your other full-time job to do when you get home. But you
get good practice for that new career as a trial lawyer that you
daydream about.

Job Four must have been penciled in late in the day, because tonight
was the first I got wind of it. Job Four seems to be arguing with me
over placement of the big-screen TV. I see no reason to move it.
HH wants to block a walkway under the stairs, between his gun case
and the mini-fridge. To which I say, "Hold on thar, pardner! What
happens if you want a cold beverage whilst you're a-loadin' up your
weapon?" I don't want to block the walkway. HH believes that "we
will never get rid of the mess until the TV is moved." Hmm...I don't
know...perhaps it is some weird type of Hillbilly Feng Shui, this
moving of the furniture that cleans the house. Perhaps the TV should
start with that sawdust on the other side of the room.

I suppose I should tie HH's virtual bonnet tightly under his chin
tomorrow...right after depositing that virtual bee under it. I don't
want him to come up with any more new ideas.

In other news, it looks like the Mayor will be bawling his eyes out
on Christmas morning, but my offspring shall not. I have procured
the item I was seeking at a reasonable rate. I'm not saying I got a
bargain, but that by the time I cash in my scratch-off lottery ticket
winnings, I can take care of the seller's profit. Nothing like a gambling
addiction to provide Christmas for your young 'uns. Who knew?