A funny thing happened last Friday. Joyce and I were sitting having an afternoon drink or two when there was a loud rap at the front door. We both looked at each other, somewhat startled and wondering who it could be. Everyone who knows us comes down the driveway and up to the back door.
I got up from the table and opened the front door. It was the mechanic from the quick stop two miles away. I have known about him for a year or two now, so I stepped out on the front porch to see what he wanted. He had heard I wanted to get rid of the old truck and he was interested, so we talked for a while about it.
Little did either of us know, but when I did not come right back into the house, Joyce became concerned. She grabbed the pistol and was standing two steps from the door, ready to shoot the intruder at the first loud or argumentative sound she heard. She was going to shoot him first and if she missed she was going to put a hole in his truck as he tried to drive away.
What can I say more than, “That’s my girl, backing me up when I am in trouble?”
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