By W R Jones
I guess this model’s idea of “costume” is bright colors. I didn’t need her to look into a crystal ball to tell me more shit was heading my way.
I injured my shoulder at the gym a few weeks back and was rubbing it when a woman painting next to me asked how I hurt myself. Old combat injury I says. She looked at me for a moment and spoke, “I’m sorry, were you fighting in Vietnam?” “Nah, Gettysburg”, I replied. Her eyebrows shot up like they were wired to the space shuttle during lift off.
What the hell; Gettysburg? Where on earth did that come from? This was not an ordinary ripple in my brain wave, it was a tidal wave.
Always looking for ways to improve my whiffledust, I examined my slip up and determined it came from the fact I’m reading a book, “Confederates in the Attic”. I momentarily had hopes this could still work out. Most people are so uneducated and stupid; she might think I was in a shoot out at a hamburger joint. I could be a member of a swat team.
What are the chances of the person standing next to you being a history professor AND a member of Daughters of the Confederacy? “Oh, really?”, she says. I can’t get the inflection of her reply here, but let me just say it didn’t give much hope for the swat team concept.
Still, looking on the upside of this encounter, she did give me a nice compliment. She said I looked to be in damn good shape for a 160 year old man.
What is this world coming to when a man can’t even tell an honest lie?