by admin | May 3, 2012 | Uncategorized
Good morning. I’m a stranger in these here parts. I feel like I should be wearing chaps, boots, six-guns, and a very large, very dirty hat. And maybe a shirt. Definitely a shirt. And I should have just pushed my way through wooden saloon doors, strode across the floor (thumping my heels down firmly, as one must do in cowboy boots) bellied up to the bar, and asked for a drink. Probably a Diet Coke, or an Arnold Palmer. And there you are, on the stool next to me, with your own Diet Coke, or Arnold Palmer, and we know it’s just a matter of time before somebody over at the card table growls, “You callin’ me a cheater?” And somebody else says, “Yup, I’m a’callin’ you a low-down dirty dog of a cheater.” And the first guy says, “Smile when you say that.” And then all heck breaks loose. But in the meantime here we are, our whistles adequately wetted with our beverage of choice, and we have decided conversation is desirable. And, since I’m the stranger in town as well as a closet narcissist, it’s gonna be all about me, me, me. The funny thing about this post so far is that it actually reflects a true thing about me, as well as my three sisters. We grew up on a ranch, to a father who probably needed sons but loved us anyway, and figured we could be just as useful if we developed our brains, since our biceps were letting us down. I spent a significant part of my life in trucks and tractors, and a...
