Clampetts come to town
So there I am today, at the Target store. They got in a fresh load of summer wear, so I tried a few on and made fun selections.
I’d picked out a pretty cute loose flowing skirt and had it in the basket, ready to buy. But then I wandered through more of the ladies clothing section and found another skirt almost exactly like it, but a bit different.
I thought I might like this newly found skirt better.
So did I go back to the dressing room and try it on?
Did I toss it in the basket thinking I’d try it on later at home, and bring it back if it didn’t fit?
I yanked the skirt off the hanger and pulled it on and up over my jeans.
It had an elastic waist….(as if that’s any defense).
Hey, you know what, it fit fine and so I bought it.
A few minutes later, The Good Man came over to the ladies section with a pile of clothes he’d found over in menswear.
“Hey, what do you think of this shirt?” he asked, holding it up.
“I like it,” I replied. And I did.
“I wonder about the fit, though,” he said.
So he whipped off his button down shirt (he had on an undershirt) and put on the store shirt.
“Yep, fits fine,” he said, then took it off, and dropped it in the basket.
And then, I laughed.
This is what we’ve become.
The Clampetts. None of the class, all of the charm.
I remember as kid out shopping with mom, and she’d do the, “here, just try this sweater on over your tshirt.”
“But moooohhhhhhhoooom!” I’d howl! It was *so* embarrassing.
Now I’m that lady, trying on stuff in the aisles. And I don’t even care.
You know…Mark Chesnutt has this song about when “ol’ country” comes to town.
That’s my excuse. I just don’t know any better.
I have no idea what excuse the city-born Good Man’s is using.
Maybe I’m setting a bad example?
“Whooooa, let me tell ya story about a man named Jed…..”