I live in a little tiny hick town in the little tiny hick state of Arkansas. Everybody in Arkansas is ashamed of our state's backwoods reputation. We all share an inferiority complex and wish that the rest of the country understood that while we're admittedly unsophisticated, we're not all ignorant inbred hillbillies. Some of us are ignorant inbred Delta rednecks, for instance.
So this weekend is the big four ball tournament at our little tiny hick country club. A young man I know has just gotten engaged to a girl from a wealthy family in a state out west, and he invited his future inlaws to visit his hometown and meet his parents this weekend, so his fiancee's father could join his foursome in the tournament.
This young man's mother has been nervous about the upcoming visit. She's a good hostess and has a beautiful house, but she was worried that the inlaws-to-be might look down their noses at our small-town ways, so she's been working very hard to make sure everything is perfect for their visit.
Yesterday, a few hours before they arrived, she was out in the yard deadheading her gardenias when she heard a weird squeal. There was a hog rooting in her flowerbed, a hog that had appeared from nowhere in her nice nonhog-farming neighborhood.1 She panicked and called her neighbor and her husband and the police, and they rounded up the pig and removed it from the property, so she was able to serve drinks on the patio without the embarrassment of a hog blundering around and inviting comparisons to "Green Acres."2
My sixteen year old, Anna, went to the four ball banquet last night and to the ladies' luncheon today (her boyfriend is playing in the tournament). I asked her if she met the fiancee. She hadn't, but she sat at the same table today with the future mother-in-law.
ANNA: She kinda looked like a chicken.
BINGO: Did she look wealthy?
ANNA: Like a wealthy chicken, but a chicken nonetheless.
1 This also happened recently in Arkansas, but I think it's unrelated.
2 A television show from the 1960s about New Yorkers moving to a town in the sticks populated by brain-damaged yokels.
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WHY have you not blogged sooner than this? WHY?
ReplyDeleteI'm afraid I won't think of anything to say, and that nobody will want to read it.
ReplyDeleteWe've only been bugging you to write a book for years and years!
ReplyDeleteLove the wealthy chicken and the marauding hog.
Yes, why in the WORLD would we want to read you when we could be reading something more exciting, like insurance FAQs?
ReplyDeleteI think you're exaggerating about the hickness of your town, though. If it were really as bad as you say, wouldn't the hostess have served up fresh bacon-wrapped canapes post-intruder?
Maybe it were a milk hog, not an eatin' hog.
ReplyDeleteThe hostess is a former city slicker. She don't know how to butcher no hog.
ReplyDelete