It gets awfully lonesome out here in the country. There is absolutely nothing to look at unless you like landscapes which are as flat as a flitter. There is nothing to do except go to church on Wednesday nights and all day Sundays. There is the occasional pot luck supper over at the local pool hall, The Rack 'n Roll, but I had to quit going there because my mama gave me so much grief. She claims that pool halls are just dens of iniquity and that a woman with any self-respect would not be caught dead in a pool hall. I didn't want to be caught dead in the pool hall, I just wanted to play pool, drink cold beer and chow down on those dee-licious deviled eggs that Ethyl Johnson brings to the pot lucks. I don't know what Ethyl puts in those deviled eggs, but when she carries that platter of eggs in her hands, all the men follow her around like a pack of huntin' dogs chasing a bitch in heat. I know she is not in heat because she is too old, but that woman is wise. Very wise.
Did I mention that I met Cooter at The Rack 'n Roll?
Cooter came into town with that big Dallas oil company that was drilling an oil well on the outskirts of town. He was a rough neck who worked all day in the hot Texas sun. I'll never forget that first night he strutted into The Rack 'n Roll with that tan, fit body. He was wearing a tight pair of Wrangler jeans that were calling my name to fish that can of Copenhagen out of his back pocket. He wore a work shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his bulging biceps. The back of his shirt displayed the oil company's logo, We'll Frack You Over. Yep, he was a sight for sore eyes.
I'm pretty sure it was love at first sight.
I'm not sure. I don't quite remember everything that happened that night.
I do remember drinking buckets of cold Lone Star Beer long necks. Well, I remember the first and second bucket anyway.
I do remember line dancing, two-stepping and doing the hokey pokey. I vividly recall putting my left foot in and taking my left foot out.
But you know what I remember most of all? I remember the very moment that Cooter held me close on the dance floor, took my chin in his hand, tilted my face toward his, french kissed me and asked, "Can I take you to Paris?"
The next morning, I woke up to this:
It's been going downhill ever since.
I should have listened to Ethyl when she told me that Cooter was nothin' but trouble.