Friday, January 30, 2009

Six inches deep in mud

“I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain;”

Miss Mable, my ’98 Toyota Camry, took a jaunt through the fields yesterday after a winter’s thaw for the purposing of retrieving our CSA produce at the farm. The result: she became mired in “the bog of eternal stench.”

There were times that she almost succumbed to its insidious depths, her tires churning in panic and her engine revving in protestation. However, Miss Mable is not the “best built car in the world” for nothing. She persevered and overcame the muddy abyss.

Her petticoat though, as you can imagine, was a bit worse for wear.

"To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, above her ankles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! what could she mean by it? It seems to me to shew an abominable sort of conceited independence, a most country-town indifference to decorum.''

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