Even redneck boys like pretty girls and I remember one evenin’, back in the late sixties, when my old pal Bill arranged blind dates for my brother and me. We should have known better. I mean, if Bill dated anything like he camped, the night could very well prove to be fatal. Bill assured me that my date was not really blind, merely a blind date. I was still concerned, because with him you had to ask direct questions and hope you hadn’t left anything important out. While Bill wouldn't lie to you, if you didn’t ask he wouldn’t tell. Like most rednecks, he was honest unless cornered, then he’d lie his rear-end off.
When Bill arrived at our house he was drivin’ his mom’s car, which sure beat going to town in a hay truck. Let me assure you, it is hard to pick up girls with a hay truck no matter how big your smile. His expression was that of a used car salesman, the I know and you know this car is a lemon, but you’re going to buy it anyway look.
Since we were going out we’d already washed down at the creek. Also, we were dressed our best, with all three of us wearin’ jeans, Bubba’s Bait Shop tee shirts and, of course, cowboy boots. And, as you might guess, each of us wore a cowboy hat. Bill had his cigarettes rolled up in his right shirt sleeve and Larry had a can of snuff in his right rear jean pocket. I hated smokin’, because I choked when I tried it and snuff was like taking sand into my mouth. No thanks to either, I chewed Deadman chewin’ tobaccer.
With a grin and a laugh the three of us piled into his mom’s car and were soon leavin’ a cloud of dust following us on the old country road toward town. We were to meet the girls at a drive-in theatre in a small nearby town. That meant girls, maybe a beer, and a good movie. Onliest thing better would have been a greased pig contest at a county fair.
