Last week while I was sitting in the doctor’s waiting room, Willis showed up. You know Willis; he drives the lumber truck for Phillips Pharmacy and Hardware Store here in Pancake Flats.
Willis looked real bad. His face was just a mess! Two serious black eyes, a severely swollen nose, puffed lips, and several pretty bad scratches. He walked real slow and painful-like.
After he signed in and sat down, I went over and sat next to him. “Willis, what happened?”
“I slipped,” he said.
“You slipped? Whatchoo mean, Willis?”
“I slipped up. Sorry, it’s hard to talk.”
“Take your time,” I told him. I noticed some defensive wounds on his hands. “What happened?”
“Well, we were out to dinner at Bertie’s Pie and Coffee Shoppe last night.”
“Who’s we?”
“Me and my wife and her mother. We was having a good enough time and then I slipped up.”
“And…”
“Well, I meant to ask my mother-in-law, ‘Could you please pass the salt,’ but what came out was, ‘You overweight cow! You ain’t done a thing in your life ‘cept meddle in our marriage!’”
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