April 1st, 2003

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Bored of My Kids--a Bizarro April 1 LiveJournal Post

Damn! I spend half an hour blow-drying my hair, putting on my tightest jeans, sliding on the lizard skin boots, and damn! The kids done messed up my truck again! It ain't easy being a single father of four, let me tell you! Here I am, trying my damnedest to have a night at Billy Bob's, and Bobby John goes and gets sick in the cab of my Ram dualie pick up. Do you know what excuse he gave me, right before I lit into him? "I was only hunting a match, when I just felt a little woozy". That's crazy! He knows that I don't keep my matches in the truck--they're indoors, by the bong.

Now I'm not a punishing man, having swore off hitting at the cowboy church about six months (with time off for good behavior) after that bar fight with Cleotis (when he said that the Dallas Cowboys could rot in Hell, for all he cared--I hate a profane man), but let me tell you, I gave that boy time out with a vengeance! I told him--"I don't think you realize what I'm doing here. I am going to Billy Bob's to try to find you a mother! Don't you agree that we need a mother in this house?". Poor little Bobby John just broke down and cried. Ever since Oda Mae left us, things have been pretty hard for me and the kids. I'll never forget that day, when she put all her stuff in the Tom Thumb grocers' sack and told us all, right after she served us pork chops and grits, but before she finished sweeping out my truck, that she was going to be a welder in Alaska. "I'd rather freeze than spend my whole life cooking and cleaning for five boys!", she said, and I was so confused, because I thought she liked to clean. Every time I got to watching NASCAR, seemed as if she was vacuuming or something.

Well, you can just imagine how Bobby John felt. He began bawling like a mule colt when the jenny's doing cart duty. I felt so bad that I went over to the corner of the mobile home I'd put him in, set up the 12 inch TV I got at the yard sale, and turned him on a fishing show. Even when I'm punishing, I try to go easy.

But I'll tell you honest--some days I'm bored of my kids. I hate to say it, because I love them. But sometimes it's hard. Like tonight--here I am trying my best to go to a fancy place with lots of shapely cowgirls, trying, as always, one night at a time, to find them a mother. All they can think about doing is just being kids all over the place. It's bad enough that when I make a love connection I can't say "Your place or mine?". I have to say "Um, well, could we go to your place?". Good thing I have a hot truck, or they might think I'm a deadbeat.

I've found that it's hard to set up a proper first night of spousal-unit-material-auditioning with four kids wanting Captain Crunch at midnight. I always try to save that for the second date. No, the first night should be for test driving--two pick ups linking their beds for some major hauling. That way, if the load ain't right for the long haul, at least you lubricate the chassis for a bit, and that's not a bad way to check the oil at all, let me tell you. The first night ain't for talking, the first night is for love. Sometimes I think the first night is the only part of loving I understand. It's helps that I'm good, shall we say, with my trailer hitch. After all, I've only had three wives (not counting Doreen, because we was annulled), but I've had at least a hundred first night auditions for new potential wives I've met,at bars and boogie joints all over Texas. The first night always goes well, but after that, when they want to go out to dinner and talk about feelings and stuff, I'm not so good. I have feelings, mind you, but I'm better at welding.

Sometimes I wonder if I could get more women if I had two kids instead of four. I mean, women love kids, it's true. They don't mind going home with a man with two kids. Like my friend Ora Dean says, "A man with two kids is great, because you know he won't mind that you have two of your own". But four kids! They don't always say it, but I know they must be fixing to think--"add his four, with my two, and that's six, and hell, I ain't no Carol Brady!". I feel so bad, but I think I'm getting a little bored with my kids. Now, don't get me wrong--I'm still going to take those boys squirrel hunting on the Bosque River next fall, and I'm going to make sure every boy gets a chance, be it truck driving, welding, what have you. But I ask you, how many high quality women, with late model trucks, are going to want to park that truck in front of a trailer where James Curtis Lee still wets the bed sometimes and Odell Martin keeps bringing crawdads into the house? I tell you, high quality women just can't deal with crawdads in the house! I'm just bored of having to think about things this way. I should have a woman who can work a ten hour day, keep our trailer clean, and still be available around the clock for slow dancing, if you know what I mean. But four kids! That hurts my marketability. I love my kids, but I have needs. I'm a marrying man, after all. Many times, for that matter.

Well, it's a good thing that Billy Bob's is open to 2 a.m., and
there ain't no spit up made yet that a little lava soap and some paper towels can't get up. I feel lucky tonight, even though, if I do say so myself, it's never luck. Boy howdy, it ain't luck at all. It's that look you give a woman when you see her across a crowded bar. It's that way you swagger in your jeans. It's that thing in your eyes that says "hell, honey, let's go home tonight, and maybe I'll help you raise your kids, and damn, we might even have a few of our own". It's that way she sighs and sways into you when you're two stepping with that gentle touch on her tight jeans. I don't know much about women, but I know about how to take them home--and they know how to let me--sometimes they even take me home,first! Women love a man like me, who tells them what to do in a manly way. I should know, I've been with more women than the Mary Kay lady has. Every woman loves a cowboy, like staring up at an expensive boot, and knowing it's in charge of her.

I guess I shouldn't just sit here complaining about my kids. I have my health, I have my truck, and tonight I may meet--and definitely greet--another future wife. Hell, I have the perfect life! Now where the Hell did I put that lava soap?
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