By Susan Gale Wickes
It wasn’t the way I thought it would be. It wasn’t white organza and pink roses. There was no champagne toast, no throwing of the garter.
It was a borrowed blue dress and five minutes in front of the Justice of the Peace. It was a long ride down a dirt road to a farm in the middle of nowhere.
“Get that dress off,” he yelled hurriedly from the bottom of the stairs. “We’ve got work to do.”
“Hallelujah and Sunday morning!” I dropped the dress and hopped into bed just in time to hear the old 8N tractor fire up.
Hilarious! That’s farm life young lady. Better get used to it. – Great job, Susan!
Thanks, Gina!
There are some painful memories associated with my farm life, but they have mostly faded. You have had the insight to poke fun in this example and you have succeeded in making me smile as some of my old memories. Thanks for a good story and well written.
I’m glad this made you smile! Thanks, b.
I’ll bet that old 8N tractor wasn’t the only thing that fired up! Good story.
Could be…. Thanks, Bobby!
As a city boy, perhaps, I don’t quite understand the tractor reference at the end.
It’s an old Ford tractor that was produced, I believe, from 1947-1952…and, in this story, it may have been the farmer’s true love. 🙂
Ah! Of course! Excellent work…
Thanks, Dan!
Absolutely love this!
Thanks, Anita!