Crisps, if you like.
One decent size russet potato from the fantastic state of Idaho, land of true American patriots. Land of the free because of the brave. Land of the Yankee Fork, Land of the Pullers, Land of the potato.
Oh wait. They were grown in Colorado. Nevermind.
Once at six years of age I pulled potatoes on a farm in Dushore Pennsylvania. Dushore. That name kills me. But the guy only paid me half the stated amount. I didn't care. La la la, I didn't know anything about money, but ewwww, was my dad ever mad. Dad thought the guy should pay what he said. So he drove over there while Barry and I waited in the car.
OMG, they're gonna fight!
I'm going to watch my dad kick this guy's ass.
Scary.
The farmer said the little kids mostly just goof around.
And I did just goof around. I didn't know what I was doing. I just followed along. Here I am in a field. Here I am pulling a potato. Here I am putting the potato in the bucket. I did pull up potatoes from the dirt. I suppose the machines cannot get them all so people go out there and scrounge around for the rest. I learned about potatoes.
The farmer gave my dad a few more dollars and I went off and bought a Halloween costume.
And it was a great costume too. A scary devil mask and red cotton pajamas with a tail!
I don't know what happened to the mask and the shirt. They weren't so attractive, but I kept the costume pajama bottoms and pretended I was a red monkey. I loved my pants with a tail.
Love, love, loved them.
Loved them to death. Wore them everyday. I hopped around the whole house being a red monkey with a swinging red tail. A red tail with an arrow point on the end, but I ignored the devil-point and kept pretending I was a monkey in those pants. God, I loved that red tail.
Whoever thought of putting a tail on pants was a genius.
How did the devil monkey pants die?
I used them so much that they simply disappeared one day.
One morning I was looking all around for them and my mum said, "They're gone."
Poof. Just like that.
"Pants don't just disappear!"
"Yes they do."
And that's the way it goes with clothes my entire life. You never know when your favorite things are going to go poof and just disappear. Clothes are the most unreliable things.
And every now and then it happens that I'll see a guy with a shirt in a pattern that I used to own but somehow let it disappear and I'll go, "Hey! That guy's got my shirt!"
No comments:
Post a Comment