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He had a big old plate of crow with his supper
Ah yes. Finally. The farmer’s crown of perfection has been knocked sideways.
He got a traffic ticket.
And he stewed on the news for almost a week before sheepishly confessing his fall from grace.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I said devilishly.
“You heard me,” he groaned. “I got a ticket.”
“No kidding?” I smiled. “And how do you feel about that?”
He couldn’t take anymore of my brimming-with-happiness-at-your-bad-news behavior and ducked out the back door.
This traffic-ticket business is a big deal since I happen to be the identified monster in this marriage.
Any time disaster strikes around here, it has my name written all over it in neon letters.
If something is broken, it’s me who did it. I’ve knocked over more than a few floor lamps while running the sweeper like a maniac. I drop things often since I fly through life in fifth gear.
If tires are popped, it’s me. I am guilty of hitting potholes and curbs. It’s not on purpose. It just happens.
If the car interior is trashed, it’s on me. In fact, at this very moment, I can safely guess that seven pairs of shoes, two jackets and at least 11 drink cups are hanging around on the backseat of my car. If the farmer opened that car door right this minute, he would hyperventilate in horror.
He is the neat-as-a-pin type. And who knows why he decided to tie the knot with a pig pen.
Until today, when I learned about the farmer’s traffic ticket, I also had the monopoly on court costs.
If someone had a contest for how many tickets you can get from “rolling through stop signs,” I would be an easy winner.
So the farmer’s traffic ticket was a big deal. I could finally save face for once while serving up a big old plate of crow to go along with the soggy chicken and the lumpy mashed potatoes.
As I put supper on the table, I smiled. “I feel downright giddy about your moving violation.”
“I’m nowhere near catching up with you, Miss Driving School,” he sneered.
“I’m thinking you’re starting to slip,” I said. “You’re losing your reputation. Who knows? A traffic ticket this week and maybe a flat tire with a bent rim next week?
The sky’s the limit when your crown gets knocked sideways.”
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