Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit. Aint that just finer n’ frog hair? I just hitched up me critters and moseyed on down to see the boss man and I’ll be derned if he woddunt there. Dang ol’ fart done made his way into town for his monthly gathering of old folks. They gits together onct a month fer vittles at some fancy eatin’ place.
When I gits old I thank I wants to be jest like ol’ Ray. He aint got sense enough to know he caint do a thang. Jest keeps a climbin’ them ladders n a doin’ as he pleases. Why, jest the other day I was a carryin’ a heavy box down stairs to be thrown in the dumpster. I’ll be derned if ol Ray’ didn’t take that there heavy box from me and heave it in the trash all by hisself. The whole time I’m a standin’ in the doorway yellin’ “PUT THAT THERE BOX DOWN! DO YOU KNOW HOW OLD YOU ARE?” He says “I reckon I’m 82 but I aint dead yet.”
I’ll tell you what though. Gittin’ old aint for sissys. The bones gits to creakin and next thang ya know ya gots to go out and git one of them there day and night pill boxes. I done gone and got one myself a few weeks ago. I don’t need no watch no more. I know what time it is when my pills wear off.
Ol Ray don’t hardly take no pills though. He says he jest aint a gonna be sick. When he gits a hitch in his get-a-long he just tells his ol body “Body” he says “Heal yourself cause I aint a gonna be sick”. Ol Ray’s got faith like that. He jest believes thangs is gonna be OK and so it is. Aint got no time for sickness and such. Got too many thangs that still need a doin’.
(If you’re shaking your head now I should probably tell you that the daily prompt today told us to write something in our regional dialect.)