One glaring difference between me and most of my neighbors--my lack of a tractor--will be remedied today.
For the past year Miss Brenda and I have worked several major projects here on Eegeebegee, by hand. I kept saying we needed a tractor. Miss Brenda kept responding with "We're not farmers!" I began to calculate that the amount of money we were spending monthly on motrin ("grunt candy," as we Marines call it) would come close to paying the note on a decent tractor with a front loader.
But, I have learned from long experience with Miss Brenda that all I need do is plant the seed of my want in her mind and then shut up. So, I shut up and we dug up trees and walkway forms and moved gravel and sand and trees and bricks--mostly by hand. We popped copious amounts of motrin and awoke each morning with stiff backs.
One morning last week as I was struggling to eject myself from the rack, Miss Brenda opened one eye and muttered, "Let's go get you a tractor." I pretended not to understand, "I'm sorry, Sweetie, what was that?" But, she had already fallen back asleep.
About 10 that morning, Miss Brenda sprung from the bed and immediately began to shout orders as if I were the one who had been burning daylight. "Let's go! Get movin'! Goin' to town! Gonna go get you a tractor!"
"Sweetie," I replied, without a hint of sarcasm, "we don't need a tractor. We're not farmers."
I got the look that can cook steak in reply.
My tractor is supposed to be delivered out here some time today. Wonder if Miss Brenda will let me ride it.