Don Locke: Lookin thru the bifocals
Back then, most country folk went to town on Saturday.
Instead of going herself, one lady sent her teen- age son into town to pick up a few items. “try to get back before dark, “she told him.
Sometime after noon the boy got to town.
Boy-like, he got to writing with a few boys his age. One or two he went to school with. They got to sillyings, around, swapping pocketknives, talking girls, and what have you, till the day slipped up on him. It was almost sundown when he left for home… carrying the things his mother wanted: a spool of thread, a new five-gallon bucket, and a fat hen for Sunday dinner.
Somewhere along the way he met a fellow carrying a shoat in a grass sack. The sack had so many holes the pig could breathe OK.
In the rounds the day traded one of his good pocketknives for the pig; slung sack- pig- and all-over his shoulder. Along the way home he met this pretty neighbor girl. He asked her to walk along with him.
“No” was her answer, “it’s almost dark; I’m afraid you’ll try to kiss me.”
“No, I wouldn’t do that”, the boy protested. “I’m a good Baptist boy- I go to church, Sunday school, Wednesday night prayer meeting; I’m also captain of my Baptist Training Union Team. Besides,” he went on, “I’ve got this bucket, this pig and this hen. How could I kiss you even if I wanted to?”
The girl thought for a moment … “ill tell you what. We could put the chicken under the bucket, and I’ll hold the pig.”