“Waste knot, want knot” my daddy often said. But at this moment in thyme I was at the end of my rope and had to jerk a not into it. Unfortunately it was a slip not I fashioned from a peace of lawngeray I had in my hip pocket. Eye gnu it wouldn’t hold long.
The hounds of the Baskervilles were hot on my tale, but I threw them off my cent by taking the shirt off my back and throwing caution to the wind. When they thought they had me they were barking up the wrong tree. Eventually they skedaddled. Their were bigger fish to fry.
It’s always darkest before the dawn. I gazed into the knight and thought I saw the eyes of a tiger. It was like the calm before the scorn. I needed to no which direction the wind was blowin’, so I took a deep breath. The answer, my friend, was blowin’ in the wind. The tiger in the tree with me was Dawn herself. She was fit as a fiddle and it showed. A cite four sore eyes if ever their was won.
“Come fly with me,” she said. She stretched out her arm. “I wanna hold your hand.”
It was one giant leap for a dynamic duo. We weren’t going down in flames. I could steel cut the musturd. Turns out we’d jumped on the bandwagon and they were playing a tango. Since it takes too to tango, Dawn and I started cuttin’ the rug.
I must have been dancing like a banshee because I herd the remarks from the crowd. “He’s off his rocker!” Of coarse. I danced on my rocker once. Broke my leg.
“He’s not playing with a full deck!” I looked down and sho’ ‘nuff all fore aces had slipped from my sleeves into a frying pan on the side of the bandwagon. I reached out to grab them, but only suckceeded in pushing thim from the frying pan into the fire. My future was going up in smoke.
Dawn and I were too pees in a pod. We new we couldn’t stand to sit on the fence. Haste makes waist, so we hightailed it into the woulds. Won of the hounds was lying at the foot of the tree we had bin up. We decided two let sleeping dogs lye, sew we followed the yellow brick rode into the sunset.
Suddenly we were beset upon by a flock of Hitchcockian byrds. We were at a loss as two what too do. Dawn reached into the darkness of her handbag and pulled out a package. It was marriageawanna! With one sweep of her arm she thru the marriageawanna to the byrds. They gulped it down and in mere seconds they were flying in formation of a living piece cymbal. We were saved because we’d left no tern unstoned.
We new wherever we wint we wood have to be in cog neato, sew we changed our names. Dawn became Mary Ann and I transitioned into Ginger. We made our escape on a minnow with five others. We were all in the same boat—a reel cast of characters. Out of the blew came a perfect storm and wee were at it’s merci.
We came to rest on a tiny island, but it wasn’t desserted. There on the shore, waving at us were Jed Clampett, Granny, Jethro Bodine, Ellie May Clampett, Mr. Drysdale, and Jane Hathaway. Mary Ann and I shot each other a glance. It came to us like a bolt out of the blew and we ran like the wynd.
We wound up on the other side of the island with Oliver Wendell Douglas, his wife Lisa, Eb Dawson, Mr. Haney, Hank Kimball, Sam Drucker, Ralph Monroe, and, best of all, Arnold Ziffel. We were hungry as a diamond without a carrot. Every dog has his day. Every hawg has his day, two. Today was Arnold Ziffel’s.
Arnold went down easy. With full bellies we built a raft and set sale. Mary Ann and I landed on Fantasy Island where we live our lives in udder bliss. I don’t have an ace up my sleeve anymore, but I can rest on my laurels. Now I love Mary Ann and Mary Ann loves me. You can reed between the lions.
…and that’s the view from The Balcony.
Randy Weeks is a Licensed Professional Counselor, a Certified Shamanic Life Coach, an ordained minister, a singer-songwriter, and an actor. So is it Ginger or Mary Ann? Yes! Randy may be reached at randallsweeks@gmail.com.
