Farmers Wife...

I'd have given you two guesses, and there's no doubt in my mind that you'd have gotten the correct answer.

There was absolutely no denying my lot in life today...I am Farmers Wife. I couldn't have passed for an accountants wife, or a teachers wife....it was plain to see that I was, who I was.

Lemme give you a mental snapshot, as there's no way in h.e.c.k I would dare to post a photo of my downhome-ly self.

This afternoon was when it all came together...there I was sitting on the tailgate of the truck, shovel in hand. The black chips had plastered themselves to the back of my old maternity shorts, and my great white thighs. We bounced and bopped over the lawn to the next freshly planted tree, and jumped off the tailgate. We shoveled piles of the black wood chips around the base of each maple sapling.

My hair was an exact replica of a rats nest, the gentle rain was bringing out every bit of fuzz and curl that I was attempting to tame with my elastic. A few days prior I had forgotten to apply a thick layer of sunscreen and came in that evening looking like a lobster. I still look like a lobster. I was wearing a t-shirt the afternoon of the burn, and today I was sporting a lime green tank top.

So there I was ...Farmers Wife....a lobster with a rats nest upon it's head and a blaring bright farmers tan. There were bruises upon my pasty white legs, dirt on my feet, and my rather large bottom was covered in black, itchy wood chips.

It was a sight to behold. My own mother was giving me looks of disbelief, I think even she didn't know it could get this bad.

Bad as in Good...that is. I know you're envious of my 'handle'...after reading that, wouldn't anyone want to be Farmers Wife?