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Just take Saturday morning at the Mule Barn truck stop. There we
were, making certain no sudden wind would blow our chairs away from
the philosophy counter, when Bert walked in wearing that shirt. It
was a Western shirt, which is certainly not out of place in this
rural area, but we all knew the only thing Bert knew about horses
was how many he had under the hood of his sedan.
"Look at this!" said Dud.
"Pretty fancy shirt," Doc said.
"Got pants to go with it, too," Bert said. "Striped ones. You
know, gambler pants. And boots. I don't wear them here, though. Just
to go dancing."
"Dancing, eh?"
"Maizie's idea. She said we weren't getting any younger and
needed exercise and we should scoot our boots and all that. They
give lessons Tuesday at the high school."
"Country dancing?"
"You bet. Boot scootin' and everything. I know how to do the
Texas two-step."
We looked at Bert, with 40 years worth of eating regularly
hanging over his belt.
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"Hey, I can dance, and I can prove it!"
"OK, Hon!" yelled our waitress, Loretta, dropping a quarter in
the jukebox. "Let's you and me dance, and we'll show 'em."
So he grabbed Loretta and the two of them did a pretty good
little two-step right there during the breakfast rush. There was
great cheering as they did their little whirl in, whirl out and
clomp, clomp, clomp. Many of the people in there were clapping to
the music. So was that salesman from the capital until Bert decided
to give Loretta a quick spin and she sat in his scrambled eggs.
So what otherwise would've been just a routine truck stop dance
got etched deeply in our local lore because of scrambled eggs. He'd
already eaten the hash browns and bacon.
Sometimes it's the little stuff that sticks with us.
[Slim Randles]
Brought to you by
"Sun Dog Days,"
now on sale at bookstores everywhere, or from www.unmpress.com.
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