A humbug helper for Christmas dinner

Some years ago, when I was new to Alberta, and Dick was new to me, I told him I wasn't feeling well, late one afternoon, and told him I had to lie down.
"Oh." he said. "Well, then, if you're sick, I'll just have an omelet for supper."
"I'm so glad you know how to make an omelet," I replied.
His face dropped. "I...I...I don't know how to make an omelet."
"Well, then who did you suppose...wait a minute. Me. You expect me to get up to make you an omelet!"
"But, they're easy to make, and wouldn't take you very long."
"Look in the fridge," I replied. "Look in the cupboards. Or go out to get something for your supper. And some day, I'll teach you how to make an omelet."

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About a year passed while I entertained myself with ideas for my lesson-plan on omelet-teaching. One day, I caught him coming through the kitchen.
"Are you busy?" I asked.
"Not really," he replied.
"Good, it's almost time for supper, so I'll teach you how to make an omelet."
"Oh, okay."
"First, you assemble the ingredients. Eggs, an onion, a green pepper, salt and pepper, and cheese. Here's the cheese grater. Grate about this much. Then cut up half of the green pepper, and chop up half of the onion."
"But I don't like chopping onions!"
"Sweetie," I said, sweetly, "nobody likes chopping onions."
* * *
So here we are, it's Christmas Day in western Canada. Dick had done the shopping, attempting to adhere to my list, and found what the store called a sweet onion. I laughed this afternoon when he ran out of the room, at my suggestion that he might like to chop it for me.
Unfortunately, in the years between the first omelet and this Christmas, I have had cataract surgery on both eyes, requiring the lenses my eyes were born with to be replaced by artificial lenses. I swear those artificial things trapped all of the fumes from that so-called sweet onion, making me weep copiously.

Photo by Richard Schear

I considered calling for help but, in those same said years, Dick lost a lot of his hearing and doesn't like wearing his hearing-aids. I would have called, he would have replied, "I can't hear you!"
I would have had to fall on the floor, moaning with pain and weeping more loudly, in order to get our old blind dog to go fetch him, so I cut the onion in half, chopped half of it, wrapped up the other half and put it in the fridge.
It can stay there until next Christmas, or until it turns greeny-brown and rots, whichever comes first.
Meanwhile, I hope all of my friends in Blogland have had or are having a wonderful holiday season.