I know it is hard for some fellers to learn lessons, but some of us go back for a second dose of trouble.
Why we do is anybody's guess, but I suspect it is called being stubborn. My close relative just raises her brows and shakes her head in disbelief when I am in the midst of one of those plagues.
I have a problem with letting things go and not giving my opinion. My thoughts are free, most trustworthy, and I believe right. I do not ever give another human advice that would be harmful to him or his, even if he is a member of another political party. I make every effort to explain my take on what I believe is going on and how I might be helpful. Some accept and others except it!
I had an opportunity to hang out at the local garage for a few hours the other day. The local part of that is to be understood that it is local in the next town over, and close enough that I know a good many of the folks around there. One thing that a feller notices real quick is that the mechanics working on the vehicles aren't the ones doing all the visiting. They continue their work and the lookers-on do the gabbing. I was doing a good deed for the female offspring, getting her vehicle taken care of, and I did enjoy the scene.
Jack Billings was there and he is a registered blowhard from Kansas. His big cigar and bigger belly play second fiddle to his big old diamond ring. He was asserting that the new pickup he drove in for an oil change was the best in the country and he had owned one of all the other brands, so he knew. Why did I feel like I was pulled by a rope into that black hole? Well, I did, and from there we commented back and forth for near to an hour.
Jack was getting closer than I was comfortable with and blowing smoke in my face. His face was red and the vein in his neck was sticking out half an inch. The rest of the fellers had become silent and were waiting to see where the line in the sand was gonna be drawn. I had started down this path in a friendly way and even my good-natured self was getting slightly riled. I honestly don't care what make of truck anyone drives; it just don't make any sense to put all the others into the junk pile.
The head mechanic cleared the air by waving a big wrench in the air and informing me the vehicle was ready and he would like for me to move it immediately so he could get another one in the shop. Jack wheeled around so fast and stomped off that I swear I could smell the burning rubber from his boot heels.
It is my opinion, and everyone has one, the good Lord and that mechanic saved me from some scrapes and bruises by getting Jack out of there before the short fuse hit the dynamite. Now listen up, I hope none of you fellers go toe to toe over such foolishness and as you leave the facility wonder how stupid you looked to the fellers watching and listening by taking this stupid disagreement so far.
I am expecting my close relative or one of the offspring to mention it at any moment. You know how fast gossip moves, and I am gonna be embarrassed again and she will harass me too!
Bill is a pen name used by the Gravette author of this weekly column. Opinions expressed are those of the author.
Editorial on 03/19/2014