Come, my followers. All three of you. Come and gather around the fire and listen to the tale of Auntie Wes. It is a story full of love, lust, broken hearts, and a possum. Come, I say. Sit a spell.
See, a long time ago Auntie Wes was young and full of life. Not like she is now....A decrepit old hag that is searching for stray cats to give a home to. No! Once Auntie Wes was carefree and looking for love. Like the country song says, it was in all the wrong places. But, she was looking none-the-less.
Well, one night Auntie Wes met a nice gentleman. We will call him Steve. Steve was 6 ft tall with curly black hair. His eyes were brown and he had a smile that was lined with the straightest, whitest teeth one has ever seen. He was what the old timers called a real looker. He was such a looker that Auntie Wes saw him and it was love at first sight.
Actually it was lust at first sight. But, they both start with the letter "l" and have been known to induce sweaty palms, the shakes, and gas. So, who really cares?
Auntie Wes was no slouch back then either. She had long, brown hair and legs that just went on for days. The men liked Auntie Wes and paid her a great deal of attention. Not like now-a-days, where the men only look at her long enough to ask her to put down the liquor bottle and escort her out of the store. Last time she got kicked out of the Piggly Wiggly, a man was nice enough to hand Auntie Wes back her wig that had been knocked off during the scuffle. And who said chivalry was dead?
But, I digress. Auntie Wes saw Steve at a party one night. It was a cookout celebrating the retirement of Old Kay. Old Kay had been a barmaid for 40 years. She finally decided to retire because she didn't have any good teeth left to use to open the beer bottles with. Steve was showing off his homemade tattoos that Bubba had put on him while they were cellmates in prison. Bubba and Steve were the best of friends. Steve kept saying how he couldn't wait for Bubba to get paroled and they could become roommates. Auntie Wes thought Steve was quite generous for opening up his home like that.
Auntie Wes saw Steve first. He was indicating the size of something with his hands when she made her way over to him. Right as Steve exclaimed, "Man! That thing was huge!" Auntie Wes caught his eye and smiled. He smiled back and offered her a drink. Over a shared pint of grape flavored MD 20/20 they talked about life, jail time, and NASCAR.
After a few hours of conversation, Steve proclaimed his devotion to Auntie Wes. Feeling the stirrings of love (along with at least a half a pint of MD 20/20) as well, Auntie Wes invited him back to her camper that she was staying in. It was a brand new used 1975 camper that was kept behind her cousin's single wide trailer.
"I just dig your Spud McKenzie shirt," slurred Auntie Wes.
"Thanks baby," Steve said. "So, tell me.....um, uh......."
"Wes."
"Right. Ahem, Wes. You lived here long? I mean, this is some nice digs you got."
"Not long." Auntie Wes informed him. "A couple of months. It's all I need right now."
As our two love birds began to get to know one another, there came a knock at the door.
"Are you expecting anyone?" Steve asked. Auntie Wes denied any knowledge of who could be at her door.
The newly formed couple began to pick up where they left off. Ignoring the bothersome noise, Steve began to fidget with Auntie Wes's bra snaps.
"Be careful." she warned.
"I got it. I got it." More fumbling. "What the hell is wrong with this thing? Is there a trick to it?"
"Nooooo. Damn it. Let me get it."
"No, I got it," a frustrated Steve said. "I've done this plenty of times."
"Apparently you haven't," Auntie Wes shot back. "Hurry up. I'm losing my buzz."
"Just....damn it! Turn around." Steve turned Auntie Wes around and snatched her shirt up over her head. "What the hell kind of bra is this? What are these? Hooks or snaps?"
"Get this cotton-pickin shirt off my head! I can't see a thing!" Auntie Wes shouted.
Another sound came from the other side of the door. Only this time it was a pounding.
"Who the hell is it?" Steve shouted.
"Don't you yell at my company," Auntie Wes stumbled around the small area that served as a kitchen/dining room/living room combo. "Who's there? I'll be right there. Dag-nabbit, you asshole! Get this shirt off my head. My arms are pinned in it."
"Well, if you just hold still, I would." Auntie Wes knocked into the cabinets, which in turn flew open. A frying pan fell on Steve's head.....knocking him out cold.
More pounding on the door. More screeching from Auntie Wes.
"Steve, now I mean it! Get this shirt off of my head. I ain't playing with you! Steve? Steve?!? Steeeeevvvvvvveeeeee!"
About the time Auntie Wes was figuring out how to wiggle her way out of her newly made straight jacket, Steve was coming to. He was bleeding from his nose and seemed a little out of it.
"What the hell did you do to me?" He demanded as Auntie Wes straightened out her shirt.
"Not a thing! You crazy fool! You have got to be the worst date a girl could ever get a hold of!"
While they stood there glaring at each other, another pounding came at the door. Furious, Steve flung it open.
"Ah, man. Ah, shit. Ah, damnit to holy hell and back." Another string of obscenities flew from Steve's mouth. But, in the interest of our story I'll stick to the basic cuss words.
"Who are you?" Auntie Wes asked the red head standing on her threshold.
"Don't worry about it," glared Red. "Steve, come on. I want to go. Now!"
"Who are you to be knocking on MY door and demanding MY man?" Screeched Auntie Wes.
"Your man?" Steve snorted. "Since when? I am a grown ass man! I do whatever I want whenever I want. I can do anything I want!"
"Really? You sure as hell couldn't get my bra undone, Mr. Man." Auntie Wes shot back. Turning to Red, she shouted, "Now the who the hell are you?!"
Grabbing Steve by the arm, Red drug him out of the camper. "I'm his wife," she exclaimed as she slammed the door shut.
Poor Auntie Wes. All she had wanted to do was find love amongst the crowd. With her head hung in sorrow; she cried drunken tears of broken heartedness. She stumbled blindly into the small bathroom to wash her face. As Auntie Wes reached for a towel in the closet, she grabbed a fury four-legged something.
Dear followers, I am not sure who screamed the loudest. Auntie Wes when she realized that she got a hold of one mean possum, or the possum when he realized he was gotten aholt. Needless to say, Auntie Wes ended up in the emergency room for rabies and the possum ended up six feet under.
I'm not sure where poor Steve ended up.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Monday, July 5, 2010
Keeping the Kids Safe
I often wonder if my parents truely loved me. After all, I rode in the front seat of the family station wagon without a seatbelt more times that my mother will comfortably admit to. I remember laying down in the back car window and waving to the travelers driving behind us. I will daringly admit to riding my bicycle on a paved rode without the benefit of a helmet or knee pads. And let us not forget the countless trips between Fayetteville, NC and Stafford, VA in the bed of my dad's truck with nothing but a camper shell protecting me from the outside elements.
This is how I grew up. Dangerously. I ran around the neighborhood til dark.....barefooted. I know. I know. If you had known it was going on, you would have called DSS. My caretakers were thoughtless people.
I try to do better by my children. My three year old wears a helmet when riding his tricycle. His older sibling sports a helmet, knee pads, and bubble wrap when cruising down the road on her Dora the Explorer bike.
I take it a step further within the confounds of my car. Both children are strapped in a car seat by a sixteen point harness that I bought from the boys at NASA. I lovingly stuff pillows between their seats and the doors, protecting them from the possibility of shattered glass or the occasional fly that wonders in through the window. I also travel at a safe speed of 30 mph when driving down the interstate. I will not risk the chance of one of my beloved tax deductions flying through the windshield if I so happen to have to come to a complete and sudden stop.
My home is a fortress of solitude and security. I do not let other children near my precious cherubs. I can not risk them getting infected with the Swine Flu, Bird Flu, SARS, Chicken Pox, Meales, Mumps, Mad Cow Disease, Foot and Mouth Disease, or anything else that the diseased neighborhood kids may be carrying. I keep a jug of Clorox and Lysol handy in every room. This way the children can disinfect themselves once they are done eating, playing, watching t.v, sleeping, and bathing.
While I was growing up, my parents sent me to school and that was it. I was never enrolled in any educational activities. The sculpting of my young and impressionable mind was left to strangers at the nearby public school. I have taken a more aggressive approach and have become an advocate for my children's education. I home school both children. I teach them reading, writing, arthrimatic, chinese, spanish, crocheting, origami, home ec, and basket weaving. I believe an educated child is a happy child.
I do not allow my children to play video games. For recreation, they are allowed to read books approved by myself. I give them books such as "The History and Culture of the Amish" or "Meditation for Children". I do not like for them to read anything that will get them excited. Excitement can elevate your heart rate, which makes your blood pump faster, which can lead to a stroke......I read that on the internet.
My children are happy though. I know this because I have taught them a special song to recite on command. It goes something like this:
I am happy. I am happy.
Hug me. Love me.
But, do it from a distance.
I am happy.
I am dedicated to keeping the ankle biters safe.
This is how I grew up. Dangerously. I ran around the neighborhood til dark.....barefooted. I know. I know. If you had known it was going on, you would have called DSS. My caretakers were thoughtless people.
I try to do better by my children. My three year old wears a helmet when riding his tricycle. His older sibling sports a helmet, knee pads, and bubble wrap when cruising down the road on her Dora the Explorer bike.
I take it a step further within the confounds of my car. Both children are strapped in a car seat by a sixteen point harness that I bought from the boys at NASA. I lovingly stuff pillows between their seats and the doors, protecting them from the possibility of shattered glass or the occasional fly that wonders in through the window. I also travel at a safe speed of 30 mph when driving down the interstate. I will not risk the chance of one of my beloved tax deductions flying through the windshield if I so happen to have to come to a complete and sudden stop.
My home is a fortress of solitude and security. I do not let other children near my precious cherubs. I can not risk them getting infected with the Swine Flu, Bird Flu, SARS, Chicken Pox, Meales, Mumps, Mad Cow Disease, Foot and Mouth Disease, or anything else that the diseased neighborhood kids may be carrying. I keep a jug of Clorox and Lysol handy in every room. This way the children can disinfect themselves once they are done eating, playing, watching t.v, sleeping, and bathing.
While I was growing up, my parents sent me to school and that was it. I was never enrolled in any educational activities. The sculpting of my young and impressionable mind was left to strangers at the nearby public school. I have taken a more aggressive approach and have become an advocate for my children's education. I home school both children. I teach them reading, writing, arthrimatic, chinese, spanish, crocheting, origami, home ec, and basket weaving. I believe an educated child is a happy child.
I do not allow my children to play video games. For recreation, they are allowed to read books approved by myself. I give them books such as "The History and Culture of the Amish" or "Meditation for Children". I do not like for them to read anything that will get them excited. Excitement can elevate your heart rate, which makes your blood pump faster, which can lead to a stroke......I read that on the internet.
My children are happy though. I know this because I have taught them a special song to recite on command. It goes something like this:
I am happy. I am happy.
Hug me. Love me.
But, do it from a distance.
I am happy.
I am dedicated to keeping the ankle biters safe.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Updates
As I look apon the weekend and make plans to celebrate the white man's independence, I can not help but take stock in my new found life and freedom. I have finally moved into my own place. Each child has thier own bedroom. I can walk from one end of the house to the other completely naked. (Which I have done on several occasions...just because.) I wake in the morning to my 3 year old squealing with delight or whinning with displeasure and I am not stressed. There is no worries about waking anyone else up in the house; simply because there is no one else. Life is good.
But, life is stressful as well. Being a single parent means having only one income. However, I take this stress in stride. I know money is going to be tight. I expect it. So far, I have been able to obtain whatever it is that I need. Thanks to God, I have not had to sell my ass. Yet....
Work is going ok. There is never really anything to report when you sit in an office all day by yourself working on paperwork. My companion is the radio and the handful of people who call or text me throughout the day. They are welcomed interruptions.
My love life is non-existant. There are those that are interested, but no one that I feel God has planned for me. I am patient in that area. A relationship is not something I really want to rush in to. I am perfectly happy talking and taking things day by day. However, I do miss having a manly presence around the house. I often times wish I had someone just so I'd have a warm body to snuggle up to. Someone to appreciate my cooking. All in due time, I suppose.
I have not had to threaten to kill the ex as of lately. We talk as friends. Phone calls are exchanged and advice is given when needed. It's a nice relationship that I have begun to appreciate. There is no tension. I am thankful that we can act as adults and put the kids first. I wish my own parents had been able to do that.
So, life is good. I feel good. The kids are good. What else is there to say?
But, life is stressful as well. Being a single parent means having only one income. However, I take this stress in stride. I know money is going to be tight. I expect it. So far, I have been able to obtain whatever it is that I need. Thanks to God, I have not had to sell my ass. Yet....
Work is going ok. There is never really anything to report when you sit in an office all day by yourself working on paperwork. My companion is the radio and the handful of people who call or text me throughout the day. They are welcomed interruptions.
My love life is non-existant. There are those that are interested, but no one that I feel God has planned for me. I am patient in that area. A relationship is not something I really want to rush in to. I am perfectly happy talking and taking things day by day. However, I do miss having a manly presence around the house. I often times wish I had someone just so I'd have a warm body to snuggle up to. Someone to appreciate my cooking. All in due time, I suppose.
I have not had to threaten to kill the ex as of lately. We talk as friends. Phone calls are exchanged and advice is given when needed. It's a nice relationship that I have begun to appreciate. There is no tension. I am thankful that we can act as adults and put the kids first. I wish my own parents had been able to do that.
So, life is good. I feel good. The kids are good. What else is there to say?
Monday, June 28, 2010
Lost the Mojo
I've lost it. My mojo, that is. I used to have it. I used to carry it with me wherever I went. Now-a-days, it's like searching for the Lost City of Atlantis. I see trace evidence of it, but can't seem to pinpoint the actual location.
And I really need my mojo. Last night it would have came in real handy. I was at a Fourth of July celebration. I am standing in line, waiting for a greasy sand which that promised long hours of heartburn, when a rather handsome gentlemen spoke to me. I looked over my shoulder to see who he was addressing. He spoke again, and I gave him my best smile. Unfortunately, I ended up looking constipated. If I'd had my mojo, that would never had happened.
This past week, I could have really went far with my mojo firmly in hand. I ran into a guy that I've had a crush on for years now. He's one of those men you admire from afar. You know the type: tall, handsome man with the type of grin that makes the panties melt off. He has big brown eyes. The kind that look at you and make you contemplate how gifted your children will be. Whenever I've seen him date, it's usually with the leggy, gorgeous types. I don't think he'd go for me. I still haven't mastered the whole walking without tripping over dead air thing.
But, if I'd had my mojo, I wouldn't care about any of that. With my mojo, I would have walked up to him, cocked my head to one side, and grinned a fabulous grin that said, "Hey there! Yeah, I know, you want me." Instead, I mumbled something and gave him my famous I-ate-something-that-now-is-making-my-stomach-bubble look. Not very impressive.
I was thinking about calling the police and have them search for my mojo. Perhaps they could issue a psuedo-Amber alert for it. Maybe even telecast a public service announcement. I could have George Clooney star in it.
"Hello. I'm George Clooney. You may know me as the super sexy doctor from ER. Right now, I want to talk to you about a serious matter. You see, this young lady has lost her mojo. Mojo is important to all of us. Without it, we are unable to date. Which means, we are unable to have sex. Please, help this single mother of two find her mojo. No one wants her to become an old hag that collects cats. Think of her children. Thank you for your time."
I think I'll give George a call....
And I really need my mojo. Last night it would have came in real handy. I was at a Fourth of July celebration. I am standing in line, waiting for a greasy sand which that promised long hours of heartburn, when a rather handsome gentlemen spoke to me. I looked over my shoulder to see who he was addressing. He spoke again, and I gave him my best smile. Unfortunately, I ended up looking constipated. If I'd had my mojo, that would never had happened.
This past week, I could have really went far with my mojo firmly in hand. I ran into a guy that I've had a crush on for years now. He's one of those men you admire from afar. You know the type: tall, handsome man with the type of grin that makes the panties melt off. He has big brown eyes. The kind that look at you and make you contemplate how gifted your children will be. Whenever I've seen him date, it's usually with the leggy, gorgeous types. I don't think he'd go for me. I still haven't mastered the whole walking without tripping over dead air thing.
But, if I'd had my mojo, I wouldn't care about any of that. With my mojo, I would have walked up to him, cocked my head to one side, and grinned a fabulous grin that said, "Hey there! Yeah, I know, you want me." Instead, I mumbled something and gave him my famous I-ate-something-that-now-is-making-my-stomach-bubble look. Not very impressive.
I was thinking about calling the police and have them search for my mojo. Perhaps they could issue a psuedo-Amber alert for it. Maybe even telecast a public service announcement. I could have George Clooney star in it.
"Hello. I'm George Clooney. You may know me as the super sexy doctor from ER. Right now, I want to talk to you about a serious matter. You see, this young lady has lost her mojo. Mojo is important to all of us. Without it, we are unable to date. Which means, we are unable to have sex. Please, help this single mother of two find her mojo. No one wants her to become an old hag that collects cats. Think of her children. Thank you for your time."
I think I'll give George a call....
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
PRN Position Available. Apply Within
"I would really like to be your boyfriend," he said to me. "We'd be good together."
"You're a great guy," I told him. "But, I'm not ready for all that."
"How do you know unless you try?" He asked.
"Because I know. Trust me, it's not you. It's me."
And there that is. I promised myself I would never use that phrase. It has been used on me before, and it left me feeling so frustrated and rejected that I wanted to snap the guy's neck like a toothpick. But, I didn't know what else to say. There is absolutely no other explanation at this point in the game.
I don't really have time for a full time steady. I don't even know if I have time for a part time steady. Am I supposed to look at this like I would employment?
Ok. So, part time is 15-20 hours a week......Full time is at least 40 hours a week with the possibility of overtime. I just can't swing it. Maybe I should try to find a guy who's looking for a prn position in my life. Ya know, mostly nights, weekends, and an occasional holiday.
Excellent benefits though.
So, I know what I am going to do. I am going to put an ad out in the classifieds. Not the personals. I am going to submit the ad under General Employment. It will read something like this:
Wanted:
PRN Position available for a
single male. Must have a
strong back, easy going personality,
"You're a great guy," I told him. "But, I'm not ready for all that."
"How do you know unless you try?" He asked.
"Because I know. Trust me, it's not you. It's me."
And there that is. I promised myself I would never use that phrase. It has been used on me before, and it left me feeling so frustrated and rejected that I wanted to snap the guy's neck like a toothpick. But, I didn't know what else to say. There is absolutely no other explanation at this point in the game.
I don't really have time for a full time steady. I don't even know if I have time for a part time steady. Am I supposed to look at this like I would employment?
Ok. So, part time is 15-20 hours a week......Full time is at least 40 hours a week with the possibility of overtime. I just can't swing it. Maybe I should try to find a guy who's looking for a prn position in my life. Ya know, mostly nights, weekends, and an occasional holiday.
Excellent benefits though.
So, I know what I am going to do. I am going to put an ad out in the classifieds. Not the personals. I am going to submit the ad under General Employment. It will read something like this:
Wanted:
PRN Position available for a
single male. Must have a
strong back, easy going personality,
ability to make others laugh, and patience.
Preferance will be given to those who attend
church and have children. Hours will vary
depending on the schedule of the
employer. Benefits discussed at a later date.
Apply by phone or in person.
church and have children. Hours will vary
depending on the schedule of the
employer. Benefits discussed at a later date.
Apply by phone or in person.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Dating
I'm a little skittish these days. I want to put my foot into the dating pool, but I'm not quite ready to feel how hot the water is. I don't like the feeling of being burned. No one does. So, I have to wrestle with the question of whether or not the search for finding that special someone is worth the risk of running into the ones that aren't that special at all.
I wasn't always this way. Along time ago, I was the heart breaker. And I definitely broke a lot of hearts. Maybe karma is trying her best to show me what getting your heart trampled on feels like. If that is the case, she can stop now. It only took one time to show me. I don't need a concession of heartbreaks, thank you very much.
I went out on date Saturday night. I went out on my "perfect date". Meaning, we cuddled up on the couch and watched horror movies. We laughed and talked. I enjoyed myself so much that I went back out with him on Sunday out to eat. Laughing and talking followed. He's a nice guy. Laid back and relaxed, just the way I like them. I have known him since high school, so he's not a total stranger to me.
The problem is is that I am coming out of a ten year relationship. Ten years of carrying the weight of someone else. Ten years of answering to someone else. Ten years of walking around on my tip toes; afraid to anger my significant other. Cautious of his feelings; unable to speak my mind. I feel like I have been in shackles for so long, that I'm still trying to rub the imprints off of my ankles. I am just not quite ready to go out and get a brand new pair.
There is also the fact that I still have not gotten back on my feet. I don't really have anything to offer anyone else. At this point in the game, I am nothing more than good company. Good for a laugh and an ear when someone needs to chat.
I don't want to string anyone along. My friend told me that if someone (anyone) likes me, they'll wait out my skittishness. He said I was worth the wait. And I agree with him. I am a fabulous catch.
But, I kind of feel sorry for the next man that happens to catch me and shackle me down. He is going to get an out spoken girl who's a little quirky.
And I ain't changing for no one.
I wasn't always this way. Along time ago, I was the heart breaker. And I definitely broke a lot of hearts. Maybe karma is trying her best to show me what getting your heart trampled on feels like. If that is the case, she can stop now. It only took one time to show me. I don't need a concession of heartbreaks, thank you very much.
I went out on date Saturday night. I went out on my "perfect date". Meaning, we cuddled up on the couch and watched horror movies. We laughed and talked. I enjoyed myself so much that I went back out with him on Sunday out to eat. Laughing and talking followed. He's a nice guy. Laid back and relaxed, just the way I like them. I have known him since high school, so he's not a total stranger to me.
The problem is is that I am coming out of a ten year relationship. Ten years of carrying the weight of someone else. Ten years of answering to someone else. Ten years of walking around on my tip toes; afraid to anger my significant other. Cautious of his feelings; unable to speak my mind. I feel like I have been in shackles for so long, that I'm still trying to rub the imprints off of my ankles. I am just not quite ready to go out and get a brand new pair.
There is also the fact that I still have not gotten back on my feet. I don't really have anything to offer anyone else. At this point in the game, I am nothing more than good company. Good for a laugh and an ear when someone needs to chat.
I don't want to string anyone along. My friend told me that if someone (anyone) likes me, they'll wait out my skittishness. He said I was worth the wait. And I agree with him. I am a fabulous catch.
But, I kind of feel sorry for the next man that happens to catch me and shackle me down. He is going to get an out spoken girl who's a little quirky.
And I ain't changing for no one.
Attack of the Killer Cow
I have not always been afraid of cows. One upon a time, I viewed these massive creatures as a sweet and innocent food source. I never saw them for what they really are- demon possessed beasts that are out to destroy me and all that I hold near and dear.
Years and years ago, back when I was adventurous and did not have children that asked endless questions, I dated a young man. This young man was a sweet thing and only a few years older than me. Together, we made up a sweet, young, and adventurous couple. Like most teens, we had issues when we wanted to be alone. "Your place or mine?" really didn't apply to us. So, we had to get creative.
Driving around one evening, we decided to take a blanket out to the edge of a corn field. Sensing my apprehension, my date promised me that the spot was secluded. "Nothing but you, me, and the cows," he informed me. "It'll be totally private." I happily agreed.
It actually was a romantic spot. I remember it being a cloudless night. There were stars everywhere. I laid in his arms for a good while as we talked about what we wanted out of life. At fifteen, what you want is basically everything. I eventually tired of the conversation; so we started to fool around.
So, here I am, with my adventurous-free-living-self, looking down at my boyfriend and thinking life doesn't get any better than this. Then it hit me, life doesn't get any better than this because I am about to die. Every horror movie that I had ever seen came to mind as I slowly turned around to see what was breathing down the back of my neck.
Moooooooooo....
I screamed bloody murder. I did not give my sweet boyfriend a chance to ask what was wrong. I shot up like a lightening bolt and took off across the corn to the car. I left behind my blanket, my clothes, and my boyfriend.
I haven't liked cows since.
Years and years ago, back when I was adventurous and did not have children that asked endless questions, I dated a young man. This young man was a sweet thing and only a few years older than me. Together, we made up a sweet, young, and adventurous couple. Like most teens, we had issues when we wanted to be alone. "Your place or mine?" really didn't apply to us. So, we had to get creative.
Driving around one evening, we decided to take a blanket out to the edge of a corn field. Sensing my apprehension, my date promised me that the spot was secluded. "Nothing but you, me, and the cows," he informed me. "It'll be totally private." I happily agreed.
It actually was a romantic spot. I remember it being a cloudless night. There were stars everywhere. I laid in his arms for a good while as we talked about what we wanted out of life. At fifteen, what you want is basically everything. I eventually tired of the conversation; so we started to fool around.
So, here I am, with my adventurous-free-living-self, looking down at my boyfriend and thinking life doesn't get any better than this. Then it hit me, life doesn't get any better than this because I am about to die. Every horror movie that I had ever seen came to mind as I slowly turned around to see what was breathing down the back of my neck.
Moooooooooo....
I screamed bloody murder. I did not give my sweet boyfriend a chance to ask what was wrong. I shot up like a lightening bolt and took off across the corn to the car. I left behind my blanket, my clothes, and my boyfriend.
I haven't liked cows since.
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