Dear Favorite Turdy Twosome,
I know that your God-mom Judith hates it when I call you that but sometimes it just feels right — well at least to me. You know that I look at “Turdy Twosome” as an endearment, not a comment on your toilet practices. (Speaking of which, I do think when I get back we should resurrect that discussion about you guys taking care of your own litter box or, here’s a better idea, learning to use the toilet. Don’t laugh — it’s been done.)
Well, sweeties — is that better — I’m starting the last legs of my journey. Can there be more than one last leg? I don’t think so. Maybe I should say I’m on the penultimate leg moving towards the ultimate one. Sounds cool, eh? Anyway, I’m here. And, as you can see in this photograph, the drama started almost immediately after I crossed the border into A-R-I-Z-O-N-A. I had just gottten out of the car to stretch my legs, have a look around and take a photo when this THING appeared on my shoulder. Holy Cats! I was scared shitless — hmmm, there I am getting back to the toilet talk, sorry. But Look-at-That-Thing-On-My-Shoulder! How would you feel, eh? Then I started to imagine that it had quite possibly been travelling with me all the way from Oklahoma, which somehow made it even scarier. Was it a tarantula? A Black Widow? Charlotte? I don’t know one spider from another but I knew that this one was BIG. Well, all I could do was scream bloody murder which I did. But, then, I realized that just maybe that wasn’t such a good idea since the damn thing could very easily crawl into my big, open mouth. I was hyperventilating with FEAR! (Stop Laughing!). Well, my open-mouthed yell must have communicated that I was not a friend because the spider abruptly turned around and crawled down my arm, my leg, my foot and onto the ground and skedaddled to wherever spiders hangout in the morning in Arizona. Maybe it had cousins to visit here and just wanted a lift from Oklahoma or Texas or New Mexico or wherever I picked this guy up. I did sing it a “Vayas con Dios,” as it crawled away just so it would know I was holding no bad feelings against it. Then, and don’t you dare snicker, I took everything out of the car just to make sure that there were no offspring left behind for the trip to California.
After that, I figured that there really couldn’t be anything else on the drive through Arizona that could match The Spider for Hitchcockian-effect. I was right. This, after all, is the state where all those cold folks from Canada and the US Midwest settle down for dry warmth and golf. I read one time — not that you two are interested in the least bit — that new allergies were creeping up in pure Arizona because all these transplanted people were bringing grasses and plants from home with them. Go figure — they come here for clean sinuses and muck it up.
So it was a bit of a slog down the highway but just as I decided I was going to be bored out of my gourd (as we used to say as kids), there, on the side of the road, was a genuine Trading Post called Twin Arrows. Now, I wonder why it was called that? (That’s a joke! Did you get it?) Now, I was really in “The West”. I was so excited I got out and did a little disco dance right on the spot. (You would have been soooo embarrassed, I know.) I imagined myself co-starring in a Roy Rogers or Gene Autry episode — hitching my buckboard up to the post and then walking into the good ole’ trading post for my 100 lb. bag of flour, bolt of gingham cloth and a year’s supply of bullets — an early example of one-stop-shopping. Of course, you two wouldn’t know about Gene and Roy since you moan and groan every time I turn on a Western. You’re so smart because you know that your whining is so tiresome that I always change the channel — and Judith wonders why I call you “turds” sometimes. But I’m warning you that your steady diet of Reality TV is Not-Good-for-Your-Mental-Health! I don’t suppose you bothered to tell Renaldo that you were limited to one hour per week? No, I didn’t think so. You’ll be talking trailer trash for the next year! So — getting back to me — breaking into a moving rendition of “Happy Trails To You — And Me” I left Two Arrows and turned that Chevy westward down Route 66.
Well, that’s it for now. I’d say I wish you were here — but I don’t! California Here I Come!
Be good — my definition of the word not yours.
P.S. Turn off Honey Boo Boo RIGHT THIS MINUTE!