Why Texas Women are better:
I was advising a neighbor, a recent transplant from Southern California, about dating. I was trying to explain, in a succinct manner, what to expect from Texas natives, as opposed to, say, a California guy.
- “Look, occasionally, a Texas guy, he’ll do something stupid.”
“How stupid?”
“Like, ‘here, honey, I bought you a new trolling motor,’ stupid.”
Didn’t make it in translation. I don’t speak Southern California. Dude. But I do prefer Texas women. They’re just better than the rest. There’s a certain quality that comes from part pioneer stock, part of that “I’ll just do it myself” attitude, and part Southern charm. “Cute shoes, honey.”
A typical Texas girl, when faced with a flat tire, will stand beside her vehicle and look distraught for a moment or two. Nobody cares? Charm doesn’t work? She’ll just fix it herself, then, and she’ll get out the jack, break the lug nuts loose then crank up the car and pop on the spare. But she’ll wait first, just to see if there are any nice guys to do the hard work.
Now, the Texas guys, we’re given to sometimes acting in a manner not consistent with our age. I’d like to think it’s part of our charm. Call it what you want. Have to get used to it, though, occasionally, we’ll do something from “mildly entertaining” to “incredibly dumb,” and the degrees of measure are what’s important.
“Hey! Watch me do this!”
(Duck.)
Dream Interpretation:
For some reason, I slept really well in downtown Portland. Not exactly a luxury hotel, more like a cheap motel, but it was good, nice sheets, clean room, and slept well. Well enough to have a bizarre dream.
I was in Austin, like, in the old neighborhood, and I was riding a really old scooter. It was cross between a Vespa-esque machine and a crednza. Sort of like a wooden-framed scooter with drawers, and little pencil rack. Aged, soft wood like a pine, or better yet, an ash, with the thin veneer of time-worn about it.
In the dream I visited an old and very familiar neighborhood. There, I poked around, read a book, and one stop, in the scooter ride, I left the keys in the ignition. No problem, no one wanted to steal a scooter.
The old hood? It was growing with five new houses sprouting where there had been an empty field.
