What a man will do to avoid his wife.

Meet my dad:

Yes, that's whiskey he's pouring.

And, no, as a matter of fact; he's not a bartender.

Now meet his wife:

She's the little woman next to him. She's also his fifth wife. Yes, fifth. As in he married four more little women before her. And at this point, it's pretty safe to say that she's just as crazy- if not more so- as her predecessors. (Yes, I realize that my mother is among those four little women… But I've never claimed to come from sanity, now have I? Nope. Moving on.)

This is the fourth of July party that was actually held on the fifth of July.

"Wow. Did you guys rent out a little hole in the wall country bar," you ask?

As a matter of fact…

No.

This is my dad's shop.

As in the place where he used to park the tractor.

I kid you not.

The man built a bar.

In a metal shop.

Out in the middle of the country.

In a place where you take not one, not two, but THREE rather long dirt roads to be.

All in an effort to avoid his fifth wife… who I'm convinced he only married in order to have a hot dinner on occasion.

Have I mentioned that she sings karaoke?

That's her back there in the background… singing. She may be dancing as well. And I don't believe that she had had much to drink at that point.

Are we kind of catching on how she might be someone one would wish to avoid?

And, yes, that's a karaoke stage.

In a metal shop.

Out in the middle of the country.

In a place where you take not one, not two, but THREE rather long dirt roads to be.

There's also darts, pool, kegs, loads of alcohol, and even one one of those corkboard things covered in pictures of intoxicated stupid people.

And toy cars.

We finally thawed out about a hundred of those poor little ducks that have been "living" in my freezer since hunting season, though… Peter spent the day wrapping them up in bacon and jalapeños and grilling the hell out of them.

I spent the day eating them…

And running my hand up his thigh every time he tried to win a game of pool…

Not to make the poor man lose… Just to give his opponent a bit of an upperhand.

All and all, it was a very nice fifth of July and a great way to break-in the new shop.

Although God only knows what the man's going to do to avoid her now.

I've lived in Arkansas for what? Almost five years now?

Five long years.

One would assume that five years of being a transplant hillbilly would be a sufficient amount of time to… Adjust. However, five long years of hillbilly doesn't quite overshadow or replace twenty-three years of coonass.

No matter how hard I try.

"Honey, is it still strange to you not to smell beer at a fair like this? Or are you fully converted at this point?"

He laughs, "It's a church fair, Judith."

"Your point?"

"It's also a dry county, Judith."

"Have I mentioned yet today that Arkansas sucks sweaty monkey balls and that I hate you for moving me here?"

"Twice."

"Good. Because it does, and I do. And I want a beer, demmit."

For the record, when we first moved here, the concept of "counties" as opposed to "parishes" threw me for a bit of a loop.

But the concept of a "dry" county as opposed to a "wet" county still blows my mind.

I mean… I don't get it.

At all.

And I'm a pretty smart gal.

Most of the time.

Yet no one has managed to properly explain to me the benefits of living in a place that neither sells nor serves alcohol in terms that make any sense.

I just don't get it.

"It's a great place to raise children, " they say…

And they may be right.

But I still firmly believe that my children would be much happier if
I were holding one of those giant Styrofoam cups filled with strawberry
margarita while standing in line in the hundred degree weather waiting for them to ride the damn
bumper cars for the fiftieth time.

Don't you?

Hmmmm… Didn't take too many pictures this week that I haven't already posted … Although I did take quite a few the evening before last while we were hanging outside slapping meat on the grill (and, NO, that's not a metaphor for tanning), but I didn't pay enough attention to the settings on my camera and ended up with weird-colored pictures. And not that good kind of unique weird like this one, we're talking "you're daddy must've been a Smurf" kind of weird.

Like "We're not in Kansas anymore and Toto just defiled the Yellow Brick Road" weird.

Or "Dude, Photoshop HATES you like a fat girl hates magic chocolate astronaut cake" weird.

I'm sure it was Peter's fault.

You'll have to give me a few minutes to work out how, though…

However, I did update my Ask Judith section with a handful of the questions that  you all (read: y'all) have taken the time to ask over the last month. I only threw a few in there, so if your question isn't up there yet; fear not.

I'll get to it.

In a minute.

Not in a minute, Mama! Now!
I said, "In a minute." Now leave me alone, I'm blogging.

I've also added a little "Where I Am" player in the sidebar (Read: that column over there with all of that stuff that interests me probably a whole lot more than it interests you, but you continue humor me because you're cool like 'dat…) that will have a little daily something in it for your listening pleasure.

Today, it's Cat Stevens…

Tomorrow, it may be a mini-podcast of me discussing the pros and cons of being married to a man who actually says, "What'd she mean by that ?"

Or maybe just a little Ben Harper.

Because we could all use a little more Ben Harper in our lives right now.

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Be sure to take a few moments to stop by and visit other fabulous winners by clicking —->HERE<—-. I'll be stopping by later this evening to pay my visits. :)

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I hope you all are having a lovely Mother's Day! Be sure to take a few moments to stop by and visit other fabulous winners by clicking —->HERE<—-.