Friday, October 26, 2007


It was back to Cow Town today. The wife and I celebrated by going out for a Mexican lunch.

Server: Hey guys. How's it going?

The wife hates being called a guy. Less than 3 minutes in the restaurant and we're already off on the wrong foot.

The wife orders. Then it's my turn.

Me: I'd like the combo plate chicken enchilada and carne asada taco.

Server: Would you like refried beans or hole beans?

Me to the wife in a quiet voice: She just asked me if I want hole beans. What the hell are hole beans? Are they like beans that have been run through someone and recycled?

Wife: Right. This is just great. Not 10 minutes back in Cow Town you're already screwed up and you're thinking W.H.O.L.E is H.O.L.E. My gawd, is there a diesel exhaust leak in your truck and you've fried a few thousand brain cells? Get a grip, Bob. You're back in civilization. Straighten up! It's WHOLE beans and not HOLE beans.

Me: Well, it sounded like HOLE beans to me and I want no part of that! The server should have spelled it for me.

Wife: Pipe down and eat your HOLE or WHOLE beans.

In Cow Puncher Valley we don't have to worry about whether the beans are HOLE or WHOLE.

While I was sitting there eating whatever those damn beans were a song ran through my mind.

Oh give me a home, where the buffalo roam, and the Beans and the antelope play . . . .

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Whiskeytown Lake, Very Northern California, United States