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"Thank it's too late fer me to throw mah hat in the rang fer gub'ner?"
I don't know why, considering the source, but my husband's question startled me a bit.
"Probably about 10 years late," I replied. "What's your campaign slogan going to be, 'One Gruff Grandpa?'"
"Oh, Ah'd prob'ly hafta come up with sump'n a li'l more original n'at," Mel responded. "But Ah thank Ah got some purdy good credentials to run on. Don't choo?"
"I've got great credentials, but I'm not interested in running."
Mel rolled his eyes and muttered, "Always a smart alec in the crowd." Then he said, "Tell me true, now don't choo thank Ah got what it takes to git elected?"
"You do have nice hair, alright," I observed, "and you're a smooth talker. You might have to work on your handshake. It's a little on the wimpy side."
Mel grinned, because he's been accused of having a milkhand's grip.
"It's a pretty ridiculous idea," I continued. "You'd sure miss an awful lot of naps. And you probably haven't thought of it, but better to bring it up now than have you withdraw from the race later because of it...Has it occurred to you that you'd have to start wearing shoes?"
"Don't know why. We had a Barefoot judge here in Texas, and a goodun, as Ah recall," Mel said.
I asked my husband why he would want to give up his life of ease to run for public office.
Mel's voice took on a somber tone. "When a man gits mah age, he goes to thankin' 'bout his legacy, 'bout leavin' his mark on this ol' world...Ah figger Ah'd make 'bout as good a gub'ner as th' next guy er gal. After all, the way Ah see it, bein' the state's top dawg is purdy much a PR job anyhow, jist promotin' good will an' tootin' Texas' horn. Ah got lotsa experience at that already, with mah cowboy songs an' programs braggin' 'bout all the grand thangs we done down through history in this great state. As gub'ner, Ah'd have me a bully pulpit, and a staff to hep do a lotta thangs Ah cain't do by mysef."
"In other words, you'd have some roadies to load and unload your sound system, set it up, and get all the bugs out of it when you wanted to sing?"
"Not a bad idey. My new custom equipment trailer painted up like a big ol' Lone Star Flag will be just dandy, and it could serve as a campaign wagon. Instead o' press conferences an' stump speeches, Ah'd break out mah geetar an' harmonica an have 'em clappin' thur hands an' tappin' thur toes. Ah'd run as the `Sangin' Gub'ner,' and have groupies greetin' me at ever' stop."
"Sounds kind of like a modern Pied Piper," I suggested. "I wonder, have you considered the problems running for public office can cause your family, exposing them to so much scrutiny? After all, everybody's got a secret or skeleton or two in his closet."
"Thanks to you, mah lahf's purdy much an open book," Mel replied.
"Or they may discover a shady character or black sheep in your family tree once they start digging," I said.
Mel collapsed into his recliner. "Ah'm sunk shore nuff. Thur boun' to figger out who Ah'm married to raht off the bat!"
