Vegas, Hammerhaid. Those words don’t really seem to go together.
Vegas is a place of sophistication, and ol’ H-haid is more than lacking in that quality, which became more than obvious when he started blathering about stuff better left unsaid.
Bad enough he was blabbing. Worse he was doing it before people that mattered.
“You did WHAT?” stormed Betty Lou after she met Hammerhaid for a quick dinner at a Tex-Mex place.
“I told Mrs. __________ that I went to the CatHouse,” he admitted.
“You explained that the CatHouse was a fancy restaurant and not a cat house in the HBO sense of the term?” she asked.
“W-h-h-h-h-hale, I tried, but I do believe that I made it worse,” Hammerhaid said.
“How in the name of Elvis Presley did you mess that up?” she demanded.
“I guess when I described it,” he sighed. “I said it was all fixed up like a fancy European bordello, and I guess I should have shut up long before that.”
“Well, at least you did use the word bordello instead of something else,” Betty Lou sighed.
“Like CatHouse or worse?” he said.
“Exactly,” Betty Lou said.
“Well, did you at least tell what you ate there and had the perfect filet and that watermelon and cucumber salad and how the food was absolutely wonderful and the service was impeccable?” she asked.
“I said I ate cotton candy that glowed in the dark,” he said.
“*&^%,_” was Betty Lou’s only reply. “Did you blab anything else?”_
“I might have said something about your new CatHouse T-shirt and that you are soooooo proud of it,” he said.
“Fantastic, absolutely, fantastic,” she groaned. “I said I was so proud of it that it might never leave my closet.”
“And what did Mrs.____________ say about this?” Betty Lou asked.
“She said, ‘what happens in Vegas should stay in Vegas,’” he answered.
Betty Lou just shook her head and explained to Hammerhaid that Mrs.____________ was telling him to keep his dirty Vegas laundry to himself.
Reckon so?
Most people don’t really want to know what you did in Vegas, because they don’t want the tables turned on them. And they don’t want to hear about the Vegas weather either.
They frankly don’t give a darn that it was 107 degrees with humidity of 5 percent. Everybody older than 10 knows that Vegas is located in the middle of the desert and they have lots and lots of bright lights. Shee-sam, Gomer. And they don’t want to see that nasty insect bite you got either, Betty Lou told him.
“Did you show off that bite?”
His blush answered her question.
“I was just excited about my trip. I had never been to any place like that before. It was really something,” he explained.
“I know Hammerhaid honey, I know. You’re not the first goober to go to Vegas and probably won’t be the last,” Betty Lou said.
“That’s true. There were at least two bigger rednecks than me in Vegas that week. One was Rodney Carrington, and the other was a fool with a duck call he was using to try to roundup women,” Hammerhaid said.
Betty Lou was just about finished with her what happens in Vegas lecture when her preacher walked up to their table, nodded and greeted them with his usual “See ya at Sunday school.” This time he had something additional to add. “And Betty Lou, please don’t wear your new CatHouse T-shirt. I don’t care how proud you are of it.”
T-t-t-t-t-t-that’s r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-ight.
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