I darted into the MiniMart for a cold Coke while I was in Center Point last week. Right as I was opening the case to grab my drink a booming voice rang out across the store, "K.Dee, Are you telling me nobody has shot you yet!"
My blood ran a little cold for moment as my mind processed the voice from behind me. I instantly started sorting through my brain as quickly as possible for which ex-boyfriend Bubba it could possibly be, Bird Bubba, Beer Bubba, Rodeo Bubba, Fixer Bubba, Listener Bubba, take me horseback riding Bubba? I slowly turned around and there was my propane Bubba! I shouted out across the store, "Well not cause they don't want to, and I can't say one won't eventually get me either!"
I thought of the time peeling out of the driveway at Listener Bubba's house, as he stood there in his Texas Tech boxers screaming at me, "You're just like that Travis Trit song! TROUBLE! T-R-O-U-B-L-E! I really tried not to hit him with flying gravel as I left.
I threw my arms around Propane Bubba in a big hug. He saved us from freezing half to death during more than one Hill Country winter in that 132 year old house we lived in on the ranch. It was wonderful to see him again. He showed up once on our door step, during the year I was under my no-compete contract and I couldn't work in broadcasting. I was waiting tables for a year because I refused to leave the ranch behind. I couldn't afford propane so we were literally living under mounds of blankets and trying to hover around a small electric heater. My ex, who I like to call Peter Pan, had just informed me that he had remarried in England, was taking fencing lessons three times a week in London and could no longer afford his child support and alimony payments. Propane was out because cooking or being warm was a luxury. So when Propane Bubba found us in this condition, he extended me credit and filled my tank. He was kind and selfless and never once made a pass at me. He is a good man. It was wonderful to see him. I probably still owe him money...
When I arrived at my friend's house she wasn't home but I had a key. As I let myself in I noticed a slip of paper stuck between the door and the screen, "Your chickens need more shade and water. Please take care of this to avoid being charged with animal cruelty". Hmmm. I turned and looked at the chickens in the front yard. It was cloudy and about to rain. The water feeder was full. I decided they could wait until she got home and went in for a nap.
When she woke me up about an hour later, I was enlisted to help move the chickens to the other side of the house where it was shadier. As soon as we got outside it started to rain. The three of us managed to catch all the chickens, move them to a pen, and then relocate the entire coop to the other side of the house and safely get all the chickens back in. How many chickens can you hold by the feet upside down at once? The sweet Cajun bubba helping us swore he could hold at least nine at a time.
About a half hour later as we were headed out the door for dinner, my friend turned to me and said, "Honey, you might want to change your shirt before we go. You're covered in chicken shit".
Do these kinds of magical moments ever happen outside of Texas?
I heard listener Bubba finally found someone who would marry him and has moved to his ranch in Junction.
Most of all, I'm happy propane Bubba didn't shoot me.