Tormenting Pat' .....

 I have a totally fucked up sense of humour. Probably comes as part of the package. I'm long since fucked up myself. Don't honestly know if one preceded the other. Anyway .....

 Today then, I'm back down on the water meadows, cutting rushes, with Pat'. I've just turned up and Pat's explaining something or other about the petrol situation.

 Means fuck all to me. Pat' buys petrol. We pour it into our brush cutters. Rushes fall like rain. What else do I need to know? 

 So, I said to Pat', completely laconically and conversationally; "   It was the third of June, another sleepy, dusty Delta day ..... "

 Pat just seemed to keep saying what ever he'd been meaning to say. Barely even registering that I'd started speaking.

 Then, as he finished, I carried on into the correct silence which conversational convention allows for with:

 "I was out choppin' cotton and my brother was balin' hay  ..... "

I suspect it was, probably, the reference to " cotton " that caused some resonance with Pat's subconscious.

 "  And at dinner time we stopped and walked back to the house to eat. And Mama hollered out the back door "y'all remember to wipe your feet"

Now, at This point, I'd definitely got Pat's attention. He was now looking at me as if I'd just suggested we get on our hands and knees and eat juncus rushes. Only, he couldn't quite work out why.

 "  And then she said "I got some news this mornin' from Choctaw Ridge". I said. Still flatly. Conversationally. Pat's eyes were now fixed on me. Widening. His jaw starting to drop.

 " Today Billy Joe MacAllister jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge". I, matter of factly, informed him.

 That did it. " Jesus! " He exclaimed. " What in the name of God are ye talking about?!? "

 And I ~ mentally ~ licked my finger and drew a stroke in the air between us. Gave Pat' a smug, 'cat's got the cream' smile. And trudged off down toward the bottom end of the meadow. There to start my engine. 

 Grinning a grin that would see me through several hours of shoulder wrecking work. 



 Is there Anything sweeter than, just occasionally, winding a mate up and then leaving them to hang?