“JERRY!” Marsha screamed out of the front kitchen window. She thought it would be best for dramatics given the sharp angling of the shutters. She realized smugly that her choice was correct, thank you very much, when her husband of forty years turned from his tractor seat to flip her the bird.
“Marsha, for crying outloud! You know I don’t like to be interrupted while riding Lucy.” She shuttered at the name he had bestowed upon his lovely hunk of metal.
She cupped her hands around her mouth. “You know I can’t hear myselfbreathewhen you’re mowing!”
“Might as well mow. Can’t dance, never could sing, and it’s too wet to plow.”
Rolling her eyes, she shut the window and stomped her way out onto the porch. Good thing it was Spring or there’d be hell to pay. “I’m not screamin’ for pleasure. It’s thenews.”…
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