As Ex-Mayor of Valedictorian City…

"As ex-mayor of Valedictorian City, in the county of this Backroads land

I welcome you most regally

But we’ve already verified it legally, you see

You see?

That you are

Morally, ethically,

Spiritually, physically,

Positively, absolutely,

Undeniably and reliably DIRTY!"

Yeah. What a fine how-do-you-do that was. The Pony was sprawled across my mom’s bed at her rehab center, she in her recliner, I in the visitor chair…when the ex-mayor himself strolled in. Or, perhaps, ROLLED in would be more accurate.

My sister the ex-mayor’s wife and he dropped by to visit Mom while we were there yesterday. Sis whirled into the room in her usual way, taking charge, interrogating Mom on what she had been up to that day. The ex-mayor stepped in, grabbed the wheelchair just inside the door, sat down, and rolled over to the end of the bed.

Sis announced, “We pulled into the parking lot, and the Ex-Mayor said, ‘Your sister’s car sure is dirty!’ I told him, ‘No, that’s not hers. She only comes on Tuesdays and Thursdays and Saturdays.’ But it WAS your car.”

“Yes. I know it’s dirty. We live a mile up a gravel road. The car is black. It’s impossible to keep clean this time of year. The road is frozen when we leave in the morning, and mush when we go home. That mud flings all over the place. I usually have it on my pants legs from climbing down from the running board. Even if we washed it, by the time we got home it would look just like that again.”

“Well, you could run it through an automatic car wash.” Thus spoke The Ex-Mayor, Esquire.

Huh. To not embarrass him if someone sees him on the same nursing home parking lot as my pigpen T-Hoe, I presume.

What’s the point of washing a car when it will be dirty again by the time you park it in the garage?