Welcome to Freaky Friday! You may or may not have noticed that I did not post a blog this past Wednesday. I’m deep in edits and revisions and hated to break my productive streak to write a blog.
I figured nobody would notice or care. I was wrong. Wednesday afternoon, I received an email from Alan D. Hopewell asking if I was okay. After hearing what was going on, Alan graciously donated a blog post for Freaky Friday.
I overheard my mother telling this story to a friend of hers when I was little; years later, she recounted it to me.
A woman my mother knew when she was a girl was married to a guy who worked at the steel mill, as did a lot of men from here. The man worked the 3-11 shift, usually getting home about midnight, but she noticed him getting in later recently.
First, she figured he was stopping off to have a few at the bar near the 28th Street entrance, but she realized he was bringing home the same money as always, which also told her he wasn’t working overtime.
Sure enough, a friend told her the news she’d dreaded…her man was stepping out with a younger woman-he’d been seen by the friend in several spots near the mill.
The distraught, heartbroken woman sat alone that night, wondering what to do. Just before he got home, she’d reached a decision.
The next day was his day off, and he had plans to go fishing with a friend down at Hot Waters. When he got home about five, his bucket brimmimg with white bass and perch, he found the house spotless, and the table groaning with his favorite dishes; a new bottle of Old Crow sat near to his hand, to wash it all down.
She fed him well, making sure his glass was full. Finally, when the last morsel was gone, he staggered into the bedroom, stripped down to his boxers, and lay across the bed, asleep within seconds.
This was her chance….she went into the kitchen, and got out her largest pot. Filling it 3/4 full with water, she put it on the stove, turning the eye all the way up.
When the water was boiling, she poured three boxes of Quaker Oats into the pot, stirring it smooth. Then, she added a gallon of Br’er Rabbit Molasses, stirring it in.
The mixture was ready….picking up a potholder in each hand, she went to the stove, turned off the burner, and lifted the pot. She carried it into the bedroom, lifted the pot above her man’s sleeping form, and poured it onto him, from nose to toes.
He survived, and stayed with her….but he comes straight home nights now.
Be sure to thank Alan D. Hopewell for donating today’s blog post. He’s a regular commenter on this blog and an all-around nice guy.