If you are anywhere near this city in the next three weeks and do not take the time to see this show, I personally will have you arrested, transported by horse and non-airconditioned buggy (no, not even by horse: by mule) to some random cornfield in Iowa, where it's both hot and boring, and also as high as an elephant's eye, and there you will be dumped and forced to farm your way back to civilization and whomever it is that might be missing you somewhere. You will eventually stumble from the fields out onto a flat black ribbon of interstate (no, not even interstate: county trunk road) with bruises, scratches, pulled muscles, calloused hands, and obviously corn, but if I'm right it will be of the autumnal centerpiece variety and not even edible.
Hey, I've been there, done that. No more corn fields for me, Litwit. I'm going in for three more Gypsy nights because I know what's good for me. I also know what side my corn is buttered on. And since I know Litwit is a woman of her words, I'd heed her warning if I were you.
2 comments:
No corn for me, either (unless it is boiled on the hotplate til all the juice is gone)! I'm coming!!
PS Love the picture.
Oh my! That picture is so wonderful! I have my share of small town photos, too. I should dig them out. Or not.
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