Milo Yield: Laugh Tracks in the Dust 5-14-12
So far this week, none of my buddies, nor me, have had any catastrophes, or even near catastrophes, happen to us. So, I’m on my own to come up with material for this week’s offering. So, I’ll go far back in life and dredge up a few memories.
When I wuz a teenager, my ol’ pappy, Czar E. Yield, whenever I’d break some expensive equipment or let an expensive milk cow eat so much cottonseed meal that she keeled over and died, would shake his bald head and say, “Son, you’re going to end up driving me to the poor house.”
And, you know, he wuz right. After I got married and had kids of my own, I used to pick him up on Sundays and drive to my place to have dinner at my home with my family.”
Overheard at the coffee shop: “My wife is such a bad cook, when we have folks over for dinner, we use blank living will forms for table napkins. It’s handy and it saves time.”
Overheard at a tie-down calf roping event: After one would-be cowboy took nearly a minute to tie down his calf, and a sideline friend of his commented that wuz the longest time for a tie he’d ever seen, the cowboy retorted, “You should time my wife sometime. She can tie up the phone for hours on end.”
Not to be outdone, his friend replied, “My wife talks so much, it takes her an hour to tell you that she’s a woman of few words. Why, my wife talks on the phone so much that our phone company will probably retire her number.”
Overheard at the hardware store: “Do you have my lawn mower fixed yet? I’m tired of my wife telling me that the grass is always shorter on the other side of our fence with the neighbors.”
Overheard at a couple’s golf outing: “My husband is a clever do-it-yourself expert. He built a bay window with only a knife and a fork.”
I don’t think that’s so clever. I’ve done the same thing myself.
While I’m dredging up memories from the past, I dragged up this poem about the past that wuz penned by my ol’ Colorado buddy, Jay Esse, and sent to me with instructions to use it at my discretion.
So, here goes:
About Time For A Bath
It was a hot summer in 1950,
There were five of us ranch hands.
One day the lady cook said,
“The odor from all you guys,
Is more than I can stand.”
Those were the days before indoor plumbing,
When the “biffy” stood down a dirt path.
She stated, “I ain’t cookin’ any more meals,
Until all five of you take a bath.”
She stood at the end of the table,
And, her complaint was too loud not to hear.
She was a wonderful cook, we knew,
And her message unmistakably clear.
So, one of the guys started pumping,
While two of us packed buckets of water.
Enough to fill the big iron pot.
The other cowboys kept feeding the fire,
‘Til that water was scalding hot.
Each of us took a turn in the ol’ wooden tub
Out under the cottonwood tree.
We hung a blanket on the clothesline,
So, the lady cook couldn’t see.
We soaped, we rubbed and scrubbed.
Then we donned some fresh clean duds.
And, my, how great we did feel.
And, the lady cook really out-did herself
For us, when she prepared our next meal.
I’ve been there and done that, except with a galvanized round tub, instead of a wooden one.
Best close on that one before you think I’m all wet. The words of wisdom for the week are about a bath and are attributed to Chris LeDoux, famous rodeo man and country music artist. He said, “Now, takin’ a bath in the creek. That’s the stuff that really made it worthwhile. Anybody can stay in a motel.”
Sounds good to me. Have a good ‘un.
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