Drawing a Line in the Dust at Val's Bad Taste Emporium

Yes, there are some things that even Val won't post on her blog. Uh huh. The gal who does not hesitate to keep you up-to-date on the latest feces transplant technology, show you Snowman Peeps with embarrassing appendages, and elaborate on her recent bout of workplace indisposedness...found this subject too controversial. Inappropriate. Unsuitable for internet consumption.

No, I'm not trying to sensationalize my topic. I'm no carnival barker, raking in your hard-earned cash for entry into a dim tent to view a hoax. It's FREE, by cracky! And no hoax.

Saturday, The Pony had the first meeting of this season's bowling league. He wanted to go to his grandma's house first, to download some game updates using her high-speed internet. Yes, like youth is wasted on the young, high-speed internet is wasted on my mom. Not my fault she can get cable in her neighborhood, and we can't. Mom agreed to meet Hick at the bowling alley at noon to transfer The Pony.

On our way to Grandma's, The Pony and I passed a bunch of oncoming traffic on our county road. Most unusual, now that we're no long a major detour. When we got out to the lettered county highway, I saw the reason. An auction. A sign pointed an arrow down our road. Public Auction Today. Of course I called Hick. He loves nothing better than a public auction. Unless it's pushing my buttons.

"Hey. There's a public auction somewhere on our road. We passed a bunch of cars, but the auction must be farther down. The other way from the mailboxes."

"Huh. I hadn't heard anything about it. Most public auctions start at ten. It's quarter till. I might go take a look." I knew he was beside himself, not knowing ahead of time, to get there at the crack of dawn to scope out treasures. I continued about my business. Dropped off The Pony. Talked to Mom. Shopped at Save A Lot. Picked up a 44 oz. Diet Coke. On the way back, I passed Hick about two miles from home. Not being your regular everyday hillbillies, we did not slam on the brakes and block the road both ways to chat. I called him.

"Why are you going so early? Bowling isn't for 45 minutes."

"I'm going to town to see if my chainsaw is fixed. I went by the auction, and they're not selling anything I'm interested in until 2:00. The Pony should be done by then."

The guys arrived home after 2:30. The Pony came directly to my office. "How was bowling?"

"Oh, we didn't bowl today. Just registered and got on teams. Dad and I both ate lunch there. Then he made me go to the auction with him."

"I guess he didn't get what he wanted? You're home pretty early."

"He got a box of stuff. He's taking it now to wherever he keeps that stuff."

"What did he get?"

"Some trays. And a drink dispenser."

I know that Hick collects Falstaff, and various other brands of beer memorabilia, to display in his BARn. When The Pony mentioned drink dispenser, I knew he wasn't talking about a SodaStream. I imagined a cut-glass decanter with an ornate stopper. Something not quite Hick's style. But since he DOES buy fancy cake plates because he swears my mom loves them, I could imagine him dropping a few dollars on a decanter.

"Drink dispenser? Like a fancy glass bottle with a stopper?"

"Um. No. I can't describe it."

"How hard is it to tell me what a drink dispenser looks like? I might want you to get a picture of it for me."

"No. You don't want that. It was...in the shape of...uh...a BOY. And I'm not going to tell you where the drink comes out. You can use your imagination."

This morning, Hick showed me a picture of it on his phone.

Sorry. No photo. Some lines must not be crossed. Even at Val's Bad Taste Emporium.