Buying a Bus Pass is being True to Your Roots

H-E could have stayed back on the farm. The Nebraska farm.

During much of the day, H-E could have helped with the chores, which, frankly, H-E loved.

Later I would like to get back to these farm chores, and how, never ever, did H-E feel bored or downtrodden, or repressed, or oppressed– by the chores. The neverending– to be repeated most days– chores.

After chores, she could have continued to hone her skills at the hoop, on the same old backboard against the barn she’d used since she started practicing here, age 5. That same old thunk and swoosh, she’d thrilled, trilled, and swooned along with, in superlative concentration, calmness, satisfaction, and relaxation.

What about the “love-romance” department liasonable from H-E’s beloved farm?

It wasn’t just H-E who thought she could do better than this odd assortment of lackluster country bumkins, bumpkins, bupkiss. It was unanimous throughout the “community”. By this time, the “community” was well-informed by TV, and beauty.

100% of the “community”, isolated in Nebraska by cornfields, crops, and federal-government mandated this and thats, understood, via Gilligan’s Island, H-E bore a striking resemblance to Ginger, (with ample infusions of Mary Ann, the supposedly authentic country gal). The young yokels to mate and breed were a far cry below Gilligan himself.

Nevertheless, let’s look at it this way: so what if the yokels were inferior? Out here in a brave new world’s countryside, we ain’t gettin’ back into eugenics– is we?