Adair was a “clean cut” Nebraska farm gal, cheeks rosy from drinking dairy, teeth glistening from eating celery, a stiff upper lip from doing farm chores, and a sensuous curvature of lips from being downright well put together and sexy.
Adair loved the farm, and she loved her parents. The farm and parents loved Adair.
The farm watched as Adair bent over to pick some of its flowers, and other “produce”. Adair didn’t know she was doing a rump display, but she was, to the peeking and peeping eyes of the farm.
When Adair left the farm, the farm reproached itself. Why had the farm’s darling Adair dearly dared to depart? Adair had everything. She had the sun in the morning, and the moon at night…
She had a few turkeys, a clutch of chickens, almost more eggs than she and her family, or her entire community, could eat, and these were pasture fed, with remarkable rainbows of tastes and nutrients. Adair hated wasting eggs. Heck, after the interstate went through, and Adair’s more enterprising neighbors, the Slingslangbergs, and the Runtunrummysteins, went viral, with their humming poohbah side effects but better yet special effects snooze bar ethereal respects,
Did the farm provide Adair with spam? It hadn’t. It could have, but hadn’t. Spam hadn’t.
Spam of Human Affection 
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