Our book club ended the way it often ends – completely off topic. Actually, maybe it was on topic considering the book we were supposed to read was focused on one going their own way.
After a near-the-end round of shots we decided to create a profile on on online dating site for farmers. Ashterisk took the initiative and signed up using her email. Like others on the site, we were given a generic handle – something like ‘farmer5760981,’ and we were asked to provide basic information about us. Our first tagline was ‘udderly booty full.’ We were really pleased with this selection and felt it would draw a larger crowd than Cheyenne Frontier Days.
We then went on to mention traits, to include ‘a-corn-mazing personality.’ This was also a proud moment. Lastly, and most importantly, we took pictures. This is where we hopped off the tractor and the rubber hit the road.
I grabbed a red Solo cup, held it in front of most of my face, and smiled with my “I failed to use sunscreen when shucking the corn” wrinkled forehead. “Your hand looks so fat,” Ashterisk commented. “Those are farming hands!” I retorted. I then posed for several more unflattering photos which, sadly, happened all too naturally. Beaner, BioMom, Rated R and others stepped in for a group photo and then we got the cream of the crop shot – BioMom’s ‘my tractor is broken,’ cleavage shot. The fact that she classed it up with pearls made it even better.
Nearly 24 hours later and nobody is grazing on us yet. Such a shocker. After looking at the prospects I had thought we were as good, if not better, than the first milk of the day and tons of farmers would be knocking down our barn door. Sadly, not one flirt. Guess it’s best not to
count the chickens before they hatch.
I’ll remain hopeful because, as Brenda Schoepp’s grandfather used to say, “Once in your life you need a doctor, a lawyer, a policeman and a preacher, but every day, three times a day, you need a doctor.”Amen. My fields need plowed.