I'm exiting the local Cracker Barrel after a gastronomical feast extraordinaire and find myself a few paces behind a wild pack of old geezers out on the town without their wives. I assumed they were a gang because they were dressed alike, crisply pressed khaki slacks, matching khaki jackets, golfing shirts and loafers and shuffling to one side when they walked.
As the north wind whipped up a whirling dervish of dried leaves, I overheard one of them say, "...she doesn't do anything with her hair and her car is a mess...what's up with that?"
Word Pops...I bet she lives for the day when you are out with your homeys sucking down some chicken livers at the Cracker Barrel.
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1 comment:
Wild pack of old geezers? HA - that is a good one!
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