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Texas Agriculture Archive

April 18, 2003

Something I've observed over the years is that guys can be downright insulting to each other in their salutations. Mel and I popped into an auction barn recently and he immediately spotted someone he knew. He started motioning at the fellow.

"Hello there, uglier'n I am," Mel said, sticking out a paw.

The other guy grabbed hold and pumped hard. "Why you ol' reprobate. Yore the last fellar I wanted to see."

"You still livin' with 'at mean woman?" Mel hooted.

The acquaintance removed a fat cigar and said, "Which one? They all mean ain't they—present company excepted, of course." He nodded and poked his pacifier back in his mouth.

The two parted with a couple more jabs, and we wove our way through the crowd.

"MELVIN ROBINSON," a red-faced man in overalls shouted. As we approached, he said, "When did they let you outta the asylum?"

"I'm out on my own recognizance," my husband snorted. "Yore lookin' lahk a million dollars, Sam–old, green an' wrinkled...say, if you happen to see him, tell Boots I said `howdy.'"

"You thank I'd want anybody to know I knew either one of you?"

The two exchanged more barbs and we shuffled on by, settling on a ringside bench.

"Mel, I don't understand why men cut each other down and seem to enjoy it. You never see women greet each other like that."

"I don't know whutchoo mean."

"All that abusive talk when you meet up on the street, or like this."

Mel hailed another fellow, who parked himself on the end of our row.

"How's it goin', Shorty? I thought you'd died."

The auctioneer drowned him out.

"See, now that's exactly what I'm talking about," I said. "You never have a nice thing to say to each other, only slurs and insults."

"Why it's harmless jest," Mel replied. "'Sides, us married ones is used to ridicule an' humiliation."

A few days later, Mel and I entered J.C. Penney in Cleburne to buy a tie, since he had gone off and left his at home and we had a funeral to attend. When we went to pay, Mel recognized an old railroad buddy who was handing a check to the sales clerk.

"Why Buster, when on Earth did you git outta jail?" Mel bellowed.

The clerk's eyes got big as saucers. She pushed the check back and said, "I'm sorry sir, but I can't take this check."

Poor Buster turned around and glared at my husband through lenses as thick as Coke bottles.

Mel horse laughed, and after letting Buster squirm, said "Lady, I can assure you the check is good. Why Buster's got more money'n Ben Gum. He's the richest fellar in Cleburne."

She reluctantly took Buster's payment and handed him his sack.

As we left the store, I turned and said, "Harmless talk, huh?"

"Didn't hurt a thang, and Buster loved ever' minute of it," Mel snorted.

As we walked out of the mall, I saw two men, one in a policeman's uniform, out of the corner of my eye, "There he is," Buster said, pointing a crooked finger right at my husband. "He's the pickpocket!"