Trail of the Firewriter… 2010 Road Trip: Day Five

I was up early. Today I was going to dance with Dolly Parton. I showered and shaved. I patted on my best foo-foo, so I would smell good, and headed for the location the Beer Belly had given me. It was the basement of a Catholic Church. It was near where I was staying. Marjory Main greeted me at the door. Inside was a good mix of people my age. I didn’t see the 300 pounder. The three instructors were beautiful ladies. They looked like retired Las Vegas show girls. They were wrinkled, but in good shape. They called our group to attention. We were standing in ranks like soldiers on a drill field ready for a physical training exercise.

Line dancing is pretty cool, but I didn’t realize how strenuous it can be. Kathy, our instructress, gave me direction on a few basic steps. I was standing there like a draft horse among a herd of gazelles when the music started. It was like jogging in place. I was immediately a step behind everyone. They would be facing north, and I would be facing south. They would be doing a crossover step and I would be doing a hip-hop step. I thought that first song would never end. When it did, the room got quiet except for my last two clunk stomp steps, which brought me to a standstill facing thirty other dancers. They were all smiling, but they were kind. They clapped their hands and offered encouragement. The session lasted for an hour. It was tough work. When I left my ass was dragging. Dolly Parton didn’t show up, but I did meet some nice ladies. I went to my daughter’s house and took a nap. I would be leaving for Tunica in the morning, but I would be back on my return from the western swing of my trip. I am looking forward to it.

The rest of the day was spent paying my bills and doing a little shopping. Setting up an on-line paying process can be frustrating. I brought along some old bills so I would have phone numbers and addresses in case something went wrong. It went wrong with my first call. My biggest expense is for propane heating gas. I wanted to be sure I had delivery so my pipes would not freeze up. I called the number on the bill. The phone rang, but I got no answer, only a voice saying leave a message. It was around noon, so I figured they were out to lunch. I called again later with the same result. All I got was a dumbbell saying leave a message. I got mad and started complaining to my daughter about how casual northern people were about paying attention to business. I tried again and got that dummy who said leave a message. Lisa said, "Let me try."

She took the bill and called the number. She started to smile when she got the same answer. She handed me the bill and the phone, so I could listen to that guy on the answering machine. "Daddy, I've known this guy all my life. It's you. Try the number at the bottom of the bill." I had been unknowingly calling myself on the phone. it's tough getting old. I told Lisa it must have been the hard work I did at dance class or the lingering effects of the Tequila I drank at the Empress Casino. She just smiled and gave me a hug. "I love you daddy." she said.

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