So I Married A Redneck

I never grew up thinking I just might be a redneck. I knew we weren't rich or terribly classy but I always figured I had too many brains to be a redneck or ever marry one. God humbles me in so many ways!

When we first bought our house, our refrigerator broke. We replaced it but didn't have time to haul the old one to the dump. It sat on our back porch. Rob's Barbie truck (one of those little ones that can't haul much) died and was parked in our garage. Our toilet stopped working and was replaced but the old one was set in the bed of the broken down pickup. How grateful I was that our house came with a garage! If it hadn't, everyone would have seen the fridge on the porch and the broken toilet in the bed of a broken truck. A few bullet holes in everything and the image would have been complete.

We've moved up a step since then. No toilets or fridges hanging around (other than the ones that are working in the house) but we do have a wreck of a camper planted by the side of the garage. (Robert assures me it will be moved. Soon.) We also have a '56 Chevy truck parked in the drive that sort-of works but is hidden under a car cover to keep it safe. Of course this means that Robert has to park on the street instead of our drive. However, our biggest redneck sign involves the huge stack of wood on the side of the garage (three rows of wood the length of the garage) and the wood block and hatchets next to the front door (so Robert can chop kindling when needed).The problem with the hatchets in the front yard (besides the redneck feel) is that we have a good friend who has taken to greeting me at the front door with one in hand. It's a eerie feeling to open your front door and see a large male with a raised hatchet smiling back at you. Happily I know it's a joke but it has given me pause as to what could happen if some unfriendly (and probably drunk or high) large male came to our front door; we have supplied him with ready weaponry. I suppose we could move the chopping block and hatchets to the back porch but then we would have to drag the kindling through the house (which is a longer path than you might think in a 1100 sq. ft. home as it has built in switchbacks) as the wood stove is directly to the left of the front door. Something about economy of movement.

We will continue, I'm sure, to look like rednecks to the neighborhood and all sundry people who drive or stroll past our lived in home. Robert isn't upset by the appellation (truth be told, I think he really likes it). Even in the heat of summer, the hatchets and the chopping block will still be there. Again with the economy of movement. And I will just have to take comfort in knowing that if a madman shows up wielding our own hatchets against us, Robert will, in true redneck fashion, simply shoot him down with the gun he keeps in the bedroom.