Читать книгу Chili Dawgs Always Bark at Night - Lewis Grizzard - Страница 12

When “The Boys” Grew Up

“The weekly meeting of the Slim Pickens Chapter of the Beer-Swilling, Tobacco-Chewing, Possum-Eating, Card-Playing Brotherhood of America will please come to order,” announced Shorty Milsaps, club president.

The boys gunned down the last swallows of their beer and gave Shorty their attention.

“Men,” Shorty began, “I must bring before the brotherhood tonight a serious matter that could affect this organization as nothing before ever has.

“As you might have heard, the Supreme Court has ruled that private clubs may no longer discriminate in accepting members.

“I’m here tonight to tell you that the time may come when we might have to accept women into this brotherhood.”

A hush fell over the startled listeners.

“You serious, Shorty?” asked Cootie Carnes.

“As your mother-in-law’s drawers, Cootie,” replied Shorty.

There was much murmuring and cursing, and finally Gilbert Harskins said, “This is the last place we got, men.

“You can’t get away from women at work no more. They on television giving the news and they’re all over the golf course and they’ve even got in the Rotary Club.

“I wouldn’t be surprised to see one playin’ outfield for the Pirates before it’s over.”

“Hell,” said Marvin Coddlemeyer, “if we get women in here, we going to have to change a lot of things.”

“Like what?” asked Gilbert Harskins.

“Well, for one thing, we won’t be able to spit on the floor or have the weekly belching contest. Women don’t go in for spittin’ on the floor or belching.

“We’ll also have to quit telling nasty jokes, and Leon Caldwell won’t be able to do that funny thing where he paints eyes on his belly and uses his navel for a mouth and pantomimes ‘She Was Just a Stableman’s Daughter, but All the Horsemen Knew Her.’”

“That’d be a shame,” said Cootie Carnes.

“I’ll tell you what else,” said Marvin Coddlemeyer.

“Women will want to have congealed salad and celery sticks instead of possum and sweet potatoes, and I guarantee you it won’t be a month before they’ll be sittin’ around here drinkin’ white wine and talking about their hairstylists.”

“Marvin’s right,” said Cootie Carnes. “A man’s just got to have a place he can go now and then and just be himself and say what he wants to and scratch where it itches. Dammit, Leon, quit spittin’ on my shoes.”

Curtis Knowles hadn’t said a word during the entire discussion. Curtis had been married four times, once to a lady lawyer, and was held as an expert on females.

“Boys,” he said, “if a woman can sit here with us and listen to all the bull and put up with chewin’, spittin’, belchin’, cussin’, and Leon Caldwell’s navel, I say she’s what I’ve been lookin’ for all my life and hadn’t been able to find. A woman who would put up with a man just bein’ himself.”

A hush fell over the crowd.

“I move we put an ad in the paper,” said Cootie Carnes. “I’d like to meet a woman like that myself.”