Dear Mister Ed

Three nights on a Loss Vayguss park bench left me some glad to see Eva and Unkle Walt back from Hawayii, brown as a pare of hazzle nuts.

Seems they was’nt near so keen to see me, bein’ as how I come on ’em from the upwind side as they was gettin’ outta there cab.

Eva takes a sniff of the breeze and says “Good grashus, whats that dreadfull smell”?

Now I and Walt worked many a long harvest together, back when there was’nt but one bath nite a week, and the hole fambly took turns usin’ the water.

Me bein’ a tad on the ripe side did’nt get up his nose one bit. But soon as we hit the condominimum, The Bride insisted I get hosed down and change my duds afore anythink else.

“Then, young man” she says “you and me’s gonna sit down and have a little chat about the facks of life.”

I was so feared she was set to tell me what her and Walt got up to on there honeymoon, I stayed in the shower long as I cud, even when the hot water give out.

But I felt a mite bit better when Walt come in fer a shave and took off his shirt.

I don’t spose you recall that ad fer the Copper Tone sun tan loshun where the dog pulls the swim trunks off the wee girl and her sit-me-down is white as snow?

Thats how Walt looked from the neck down. So I figgered leastwise the old fools was’nt frolickin’ nakid on the beach and scarrin’ the torrists.

But it was’nt them facks that Eva wanted to talk on at all, thank goodness. It was the hard turn I took at the cassino.

“Rodney” she says “money is jest money. But you gotta deside where to go from here. You can get back on the horse and I mite even steak you, or you can walk away fer good.”

Well like they say Darrol, a lesson learnt is a dollar earnt, so yer lookin’ at a feller who ain’t goin’ back to them fanssy green tables never again. Nuff said.

But what The Bride said next spun me fer a reel loop. “By the way” she says “I fergot to warn you about Maisy afore we left.”

Of coarse, bein’ a gentleman, I let on like I dont know what she means.

She tells me Maisys been desp’rate hungry fer a man since her last husband run off to Sickamoose with his secketary at the age of 73.

“Its worst when she gets a few belts under her belt,” Eva says. “But she dont mean no harm, and all you gotta do is Jest Say No. If that dont work, come tell me and I got yer back.”

So here it is, the biggest whoop-de-do holliday in Ammerica, save fer the Forth of July.

Tomorra the boat heads back to Canada. And fer that I am truely thankfull.

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