Stop Me If You've Heard This One. . .

Before I get to today's post, here's an addendum to the past two posts from Bo Parker of Cobbledstones.

"We're talking about one of the most flexible, expressive words in our language, depending on its pronunciation. There's the matter-of-fact one-syllable sound of the word in a simple declarative sentence explaining nothing more than what one just stepped in. Or with a bit more inflection, hard on the "it," the word can be an expression of utter disgust to something, like maybe a reaction to what one just stepped in.  And finally, pronounced with extended emphasis on the "e," often proceeded with "oh," it can be a statement that stresses the unpleasantness of a situation, like realizing one had forgotten to clean shoes and tracked it across the kitchen floor.
  
"As you said about poo. 

It may stick to the shoe.

But that's not as bad as a young boy's summer woes.

Chicken shit sticks between barefoot toes. "

Thanks, Bo!

  ******

Brenda asked for this story and I don't remember if I've posted it before . . . this is my 1,120th post and I may well have.

But I'm going to tell it again anyway. And I'm not going to post pictures of the blizzard that's going on as I write this on Saturday. We have over a foot of snow now and they say there's some serious weather coming. . .

So, here's the story Brenda wanted to hear.

Down the road from where we live is a little Free Will Baptist church. We aren't believers and at the time of this story -- maybe 25 years ago -- I'd never even been in this church. (Later, I went with a neighbor to a revival there but that's another story.)

Back then church met Wednesday night and Saturday night and it was one Saturday night around nine that John and  I were returning from having dinner in Asheville. As we neared the church, it was obvious that a big service was under way -- the church yard was full of cars and trucks and vehicles were parked all along one side of the narrow road.

Actually, they were parked in the road, taking up the other lane, and we slowed down. Through the church window we could see the preacher waving his arms wildly -- in fact, he seemed to be doing jumping jacks. 


John slowed the car to a crawl as we both watched in fascination. And then there was a jolt and a bump and our car was in the ditch. In the ditch and not moving. 


We had visions of church letting out and the congregation gathering round as the preacher pointed out what happened to sinners who spent their evenings carousing in the fleshpots. (What are flesh pots anyway? Sounds awful.)


So we very quietly got out of the car and, giggling like mad, hurried up the road toward our driveway about a half a mile off. 

Once were out of sight of the church, we slowed and took our time getting the farm truck and a chain to pull the car free.

When we returned to the scene of the mishap, the church was dark and all the vehicles gone. The saved had gone home to their righteous rest, leaving the sinners to deal with their folly unobserved. 


And we were very thankful.