Where are all the pretty cornfed girls these days? I swear, the circus blows into town each fall and collects them up and steals them away. Takes them overseas in a sideshow for the Frogs to ogle. Ruins ’em with rich French cooking. They lose their Southern accents and their naivete. They turn into libertines and socialists and forget where they came from. Never see their pretty little painted hometowns again.
I was hoping to come across some lingering particle of truth this morning, some fragment of hope to give me a reason to look forward to the rest of the day. Nothing, though. Perhaps another run down along the river, dodging the buzzards and the hogs, will give me a jolt out of my stupor. Maybe I will paint my toenails and put on my best pair of slacks and flirt with the road crew out in front of my house. Or, I can shave my bottom and put on a puppet show downtown.
Tomorrow is Easter. I’ll burn down I-64 late in the morning for a quick visit to the family.Say howdeedoo, scarf down some biscuits, wax nostalgic about my perfect childhood, and be on my way.
See ya. Wouldn’t want to be ya.