I could feel my Aunt Maggie twitching in her grave as we sat in the “waiting area lounge” of a Cummins repair shop. If you knew Miss Maggie in Pecos, Texas, you could appreciate that statement. My little aunt, who raised me from the time I was seven, always remained precise and proper. The language of one of the truck drivers sharing the lounge would not have met her approval.
We sat in the waiting area with four truckers. One very pleasant driver shared interesting experiences with us. Two remained quiet. The fourth let his stories and language rip! In his wildest tale, complete with thought-provoking language, he claimed to have skimmed the top of a prostitute’s head with a bullet. He reasoned, “What else could an innocent man do to indicate lack of interest?” Oh those persistent girls! (Fortunately, according to our storyteller, his bullet barely grazed her. Lovely guy.)
Colorful or not, it was finally time to end this lesson in expressive language and head down the road to Frankfort, Kentucky. We arrived in time for the camp owner to inform us about severe rainstorms heading our way. The gentleman suggested we read the instructions about what to do in case of tornadoes or floods. Oh, Great! Just what I wanted to hear. Anxiously, I crawled into bed as Chris assured me that we would be safe. “Oh yeah, I’ve heard this before!” I thought.
We woke to a gloriously sunny morning. Off we went to Lexington to meet Chris’ relatives and see some of Kentucky’s beautiful sites.