MikeyLee told them that his old lady was excited about being the recipient of the newest big wood project and that she couldn’t wait to see what they were a-doing for her. He told the good ol’ boys that he just knew she would be a-thrillt to see the finished project. The boys sopped up the last drop of the turkey and dumplings and went back to work, knowing that the witchy woman was a-counting on them and their professional expertise. And Bo Dean figured if they done good, she would stop a-castin’ them the evil eye.
With the four walls up on the newest big wood project, the good ol’ boys began to work their woodworking magic by hammering window sills on the sides of the building. They set the front door in place and carefully locked in the door hinges so the door would swing wide for some of ta big folks that would be wallering through the door. With a heave and a ho, Bo Dean jumped upta da roof and they settled in a good fat piece of aluminum piping to allow for a good air flow during all seasons.
And then they went inside to put the ‘piece of resistants’ in the interior of the next big wood project. MikeyLee had axt them to keep it a surprise for his woman, so they kept the door shut as they worked inside. Sometimes, though, Ernest and Bo Dean were forced to swing the door open wide and run outside to get a good pile of breathin’ air ‘cause when the door was closed it was hot and full of wood shavin’s flyin’ all over ta place.
But soon the good ol’ boys came out of da door and Ernest walked ta da back and everyone thought they’d a heard water running. Bo Dean had gone out to the truck bed and drug back a coupla new beers from the cooler and stood there admiring their finished next big wood project. Bo Dean was a grinnin’ like a ol’ possum up a pole and he knewt they’d a done real purdy good.
Ernest nodded to MikeyLee. “Bringst yur’n woman out, MikeyLee. It’s a ready fur her to gaze upon with her own two eyes and all.” Ernest swung his hammer in a flourish like Vanna White trying to show off a vowel.
MikeyLee hitched up his britches and unstuck himself from the vinyl slats in his lawn chair. He started grinning real big and lookin’ out to all da folks sittin’ there on their car hoods and in their truck beds a-watchin’ the finish of the good ol’ boys next big wood project.
He got about half way to the house when he hollared out, “BETTY JEAN! Y’ALL COME ON UP HERE NOW! THE BOYS ARE DUN DOING IT NOW! GIT ON OVER ‘CHERE, WE ALL A WAITING FER YE!”
MikeyLee waited to see if the woman be listening to him. She opent up the screen door and hollared back at him, "HUWHET? DID YOU BE HOLLARING AT ME OLD MAN? WHATCHU WANT?”
“I TOLD YOU COME ‘CHERE, COME ‘CHERE RIGHT NOW! THE PROJECT IS DUN DUN AND WE ALL’S A WAITING FOR YOU TO BE SURPRISED!”
MikeyLee’s wife came out of the house wiping her hands on her apron. She ran her hands through her hair and fussed about not having enough warning to be dressed decently for something like this. She made her way up through the crowd of neighbors and their kids as they all gave her appreciative looks. Each and every one ‘ta them was a wishing they twas a getting the project. She kept her face down in mock humbleness.
All the menfolk stood near the finished project and slapped each other on the back while laughing about how the good ol’ boys had dun such a good job and how it was sure a fine piece of wood workmanship that was sure to last a hunnerd years.
As MikeyLee’s wife neared the front door, she noticed they had made a few steps from some two by fours really near the project, and they lead her right up to the door. Ernest tooked a hold of the door handle and swung the door open wide so’s MikeyLee’s wife could get a full view of their latest handiwork.
She threw her hands to her mouth and a loud “OOOOOOOO!” escaped from her toothless grin. She had never seen anything like this in her whole lifetime, and it drew her to tears.
There in front of her was the first six-seater outhouse she had ever seen in her whole life. Why, come to think about it, she had never even heard about one, but here it twas, right in front of her, all hers, in all its glory. She was speechless. She had never been so proud to own something in her whole lifetime.
The good ol’ boys showed her the six holes for sitting were graduated in size, in hopes that the little ‘uns wouldn’t fall through the big holes, and they had installed a few steps near the little holes so’s the yung’uns didn’t have to sling a leg over to get up (and maybe fall in).
They had also put in several magazine racks, and a bin for newspapers and those catalogs that come in the post mail. MikeyLee’s wife was proud to know there would never be a time when folks would run out of fine toiletry offerings in her terlet, ever again.
The boys had also installed a coupla shelves that she pictured using some pots on for some purdy flowers to be sitting in there. She would hafta remember to bring out the water hose and douse the project down real good so’s the flowers wouldn’t attract spiders so often.
And then the boys offered the real surprise. They marched her and MikeyLee arounds ta da back of the project and showed them where the crick water had been hooked up to the project. They explained that they hadn’t had all that much time to dig a big trench to catch all the contributions the folks were going to make in their new six seat outhouse, so they would have to be sure to turn on the waterflow sometime during the day to make sure a fresh stream of water would keep the tank below the seats from fillin’ up and making the project useless.
MikeyLee’s wife promised she would keep it flushed every day, and was amazed at how the good ol’ boys had incorporated such new fangled technology in the building of this big new wood project. Ernest told her he wasn’t even sure if it was going to work right, ‘cause they din’t test it and all, but he told MikeyLee’s wife if it din’t work after all, to give them a call and they’d come back and try and figgur out how to make it work. MikeyLee’s wife grinned big, licking her lips while she wiped tears away from her eyes.
Ernest and Bo Dean took a last beer break whilst the friends and neighbors came in and out of the next big wood project, admiring their woodworking skills and shaking their heads in awe of seeing such a thing in their lifetime.
“I sure don’t know how’s y’all thinkin’ you gonna be able to top this’un,” said Dickie Sams.
Ernest took off his baseball hat and rubbed it on his head to wipe away the sweat that had accumulated underneath. “Well, Dickie, I ain’t so sure we’ll ever be able to top this crowning acheemint, it shore is a doozy.”
Ernest and Bo Dean stood there in front of the six-seater drinking in their Coors and the awe and
respect of their friends and neighbors. They could see folks lookin’ over at ‘um with looks of admiration and wonder at the work of their hands.
“Come on, Bo Dean, let’s go home now. Our work is done here,” said Ernest picking up the empty beer bottles on his way back to the truck, throwing them in the truck bed. “We gots to take all these here bottles down ta the recyclin’ place tomorrow.”
Bo Dean took a glance back at the six seater outhouse, now completed and standing tall –albeit somewhat crookit—and knew that tomorrow would bring another day…..and their next big wood project.
# # #
About the Author
Author’s Bio
A child of the 60’s, Marina Rojas grew up in a family that was more crazy than dysfunctional, and who provided a colorful background for her many stories. Reading her way through childhood, writing stories became a past time that allowed her to keep fond memories of good and bad times.
As mother to four wonderfully productive members of society, mother-in-law to two wonderful chosen ones, she is grandmother to four perfect little angels. Marina delights in every moment with her family and thanks God for them daily.
A Small Thank You
I would like to thank you for using some of your most precious time to read my stories and poems. I have written them with the hope of giving someone encouragement, perhaps a little laughter for today and most of all, bec
ause I just had to.
Lost Christmas
Til Death Do Us Part and Even After That
God Is Into Instant Messaging
Can Hardly Wait to Come Here Next Year
Once you’ve finished reading my stuff, please consider a short review of them; be gentle however, you know how delicate us ‘artistes’ can be. Nah, just kidding! Let me know what you think about what I’m saying. I can take it!
Again, thanks so much for the time you spend in reading my work…I pray you will think it was time well spent.
God Bless You and Your Loved Ones
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