A Tale of Three Salads

Perhaps you didn't know that when Mrs. Hillbilly Mom arrives home from a full day of school and two hours of work in her room after school, she prepares the evening meal for all the Hillbillies. Which is easier said than done, because HH has of late incurred some dietary restrictions, and those little Hillbillies can never agree on anything, and Mrs. HM comes last and takes what she can find in the freezer.

After slaving all day at Anarchy Central, I set out to make three different meals, which included three different salads. The Pony will not partake of the green leafy 'vinchtables', so he got none. It started with some hearts of romaine. HH and the #1 son got the green end, and I took the yellowish hearts. That's because I like a good crunch, and the men say that part is bitter. HH had a salad with big hunks of broccoli and whole cherry tomatoes that come from The Devil's Playground on a stem thingy in a little red net. The tomatoes of #1 were cut up, and his broccoli was ripped into smaller florets. I had no broccoli, only tomatoes and the yellow hearts. #1 got some shredded cheddar cheese, I had some shredded mozzarella cheese, and HH had a few tiny sprinkles of both.

Fifty-five minutes elapsed before the meal was ready. HH and #1 were outside playing with the chickens and down at the new creek barn until it was ready. When they came in, I specifically told HH, "The salad with the broccoli and very little cheese is yours. I even set #1's salad at his chair, and set mine way over by the sink. HH's salad was right there by where he was dishing up his plate.

I momentarily left the kitchen to answer a call of nature. When I came back to the kitchen, HH was seated at the table with MY salad. He had poured dressing on it. Do you know what a crushing blow this is, having worked your fingers to the bone, looking forward to your hearts and tomato and mozzarella salad, only to find a broccoli and leafy romaine and whole tomato salad in its place? Is HH the 'Cinderblock' of yesterday's post? What does it take for me to get some respect around this house?

Oh, and to kick me while I was down, HH took the #1 son on a secret ice cream excursion right after supper. It was not secret so much as it was mentioned to everyone else except for me. The Pony declined the invite. HH never, not once, said anything about where they were going. The boys told me.

So I was thinking that maybe HH would bring me back a little something, what with dousing MY salad with dressing, rendering it limp and lifeless by the time I got around to eating it. A little something, seeing as how every time we go eat after school on our bill-paying trip to another town, we make sure to bring HH some carry-out from wherever we go. Yes. I thought HH might bring me a little something. A little something like a cup of chocolate ice cream as a peace offering.

NOPE! Not a word was uttered about the secret trip.

Cry a single garbage Indian tear for me as a gesture of solidarity.