Now I'm Not So Sure Hick is Trying to Kill Me

Monday morning, we were blessed with Hick's presence in the house, due to a sudden downpour that chased him off the lawnmower. Of course he came inside, dripping wet, and plopped down in the new recliner. Which you may remember is leather or pleather or something besides cloth that will soak up rain and then dry out. Of course Hick objected when I suggested that he move to the short couch while wet.

"Aw. It don't matter. It's just rain. I didn't even get wet."

"Um. Dad. It's right there on the front of your shirt. I can see the droplets on your arms."

Hick wiped them off with his hands. Then wiped his hands on his shorts.

"I'm sure the back of your shirt is wet, too. And you're leaning back in the chair."

"Nah. I had my hat on."

"Dad. A hat doesn't keep the rain off your back."

While my morning HIPPIE time was being usurped by these two, I decided to read them some headlines. One of the stories was about the three men who went night-fishing, found murdered in Florida. One of the guy's Dad was pictured, giving a quote.

"Hey. Listen. This isn't funny, but the dad is wearing a t-shirt that says...

WILL TRADE WIFE FOR TRACTOR."

"Well...yeah."

"WHAT? What in the world?"

"Dad. That's really not something you should say to your wife."

"And you've got TWO tractors!"

"Yeah...so?"

"So you even have an EXTRA tractor! A SPARE! And you'd trade me for a third?"

"If it was a good tractor."

Maybe Hick isn't trying to kill me after all! I'm worth more to him alive.