Wednesday, February 09, 2011

Fragile Flakes

The forecasts by the weather-guessers indicate that the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere is in store for yet another (the fourth such visitation so far this winter) measurable snowfall. The first flake is yet to fall, but schools are letting out early, grocery stores are experiencing runs on bread and milk, and coeds down at the Harvard of the South are driving their Lexi into ditches all over campus.

A month ago, the snow accumulated to nearly a foot here aboard Eegeebeegee, the capital of the Tallahatchie Free State. The Colonel layered up, donned his boots, and slogged the quarter mile down his drive to the county road to survey conditions. As he stood roadside and peered north and south along his only connection to civilization, the Colonel calmly assessed the situation and came to a rational conclusion...,

"Holy cow! We're stranded way out here in the middle of nowhere! There's a foot of snow on the road and we're cut off!"

Upon arrival back at the Big House, the Colonel unlayered, composed himself, found the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda in her favorite room--the one the greatest distance from the kitchen--and announced his assessment of the situation...,

"Holy Cow! We're stranded out here in the middle of nowhere! There's a foot of snow on the road and we're cut off!"

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda sighed in the way wives of certified idiots respond the world over, smiled sweetly at her certified idiot, and reassured him with the words wives of certified idiots the world over use to bolster their certified idiots' fragile egos.

"Get a grip, you idiot! You'll frighten the children!"

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda knows exactly how to bolster a fragile ego.

The Colonel thinks he'll keep her.

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda knows the Colonel will "keep" her. Once you have invested nearly four decades being "kept" by, and training, an idiot, there's just no future in starting over with a new one.

In the time it has taken the Colonel to compose this missive, the reading of which by the five of you who regularly waste valuable rod and cone time perusing posts hereon will by this time have produced mild panic attacks most often associated with the realization that one has wasted valuable rod and cone time, snow has begun to fall here aboard the Colonel's vast holdings.

Lots of snow.

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda is already sighing in anticipation of the Colonel's next flakey pronouncement.
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