A Tale with a Twist
“My last girlfriend was a pig,” I told my friend.
“Why’s that?” he asked.
“No. She really is a pig. And I almost got into trouble over it.”
“Really?” he ventured. “How’s that?”
“Someone squealed on me,” I explained. “And I think it was her parents who I don’t like, anyway.”
“So why don’t you like them?” he asked.
“Well, for one thing,” I responded, “her father’s a boar and her mother’s a big, fat sow. And they live in a sty for crying out loud. But my parents didn’t want me to break up with her.”
“Why not?”
“They wanted me to keep bringing home the bacon. They even invited her family over for dinner, one time. That was a big mistake.”
“Why’s that,” my friend wondered.
“They kept hogging all of the food, for one thing. And when my father called her father a greedy swine, the little runt tried to gore him. But my father kicked him in the chops. It was my mother who saved the day,” I explained.
“Really? How did she manage that?”
“She threatened to call the pigs and have them put in the pokey,” I said.
“Wow!” my friend exclaimed. “So what happened then?”
Smiling, I said, “My dad pulled out a bottle of corn whiskey and offered her parents a snort,”
My friend asked, “Did that help any?”
“Well, not really,” I replied. “After a few slurps, they ignored us and began speaking pig Latin. How rude was that?”
“I’ll say,” my friend ventured. “I’d have thought the booze would have mellowed them out.”
“In a pig’s eye!” I declared. “They became even more piggish with each belt. And they wallowed in our discomfort. But my girlfriend came to the rescue.”
“Good for her. What did she do?” my friend inquired.
I took a deep breath and said, “She herded us into the living room and entertained us. She sang a song from Grease while her little brother, Porky, played along with his piccolo. They were really sizzling there for a while. Then she started doing a tap dance routine. She’s quite a hoofer. But she pulled a ham string and had to quit.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” my friend said with concern. “Was she hurt seriously?”
“Not really,” I said. “After resting a while, all of the pigment returned to her face. But there was one awkward moment.”
“What happened?” my friend asked.
“My mom noticed that her mom had only one ear. When she asked about it, her mom held up a small, silk purse. That’s when her father began telling us about his new job at the football factory. He said making pig skins was interesting work, but as the new guy, he got stuck with all of the grunt work, like rooting out problems with the machinery. But he told us he really needs the money because he is in hock up to his snout.” I explained carefully.
“Well, you have to give his credit for that,” my friend offered.
“Not really,” I clarified. “He tried to get credit from my dad. He said he needed a loan to put grub on the table.”
“What nerve!” my friend exclaimed. “What did your dad do?”
I shrugged. “He said no, of course. He wasn’t about to speculate in pork bellies.”
“Good for him. So what did her father say about that?” my friend asked.
“Not much,” I said. “He bristled a bit, but he wasn’t pigheaded about it.”
“Then, what?” my friend inquired.
“We chewed the fat for a while, just hogwash, you know? Her mother said she was going to Piggly Wiggly Market, but her father said he was just going to stay home. My girlfriend asked her mom to buy her some bread and butter, although she didn’t care if her brother got none,” I said.
“That wasn’t very sisterly,” my friend declared. “What happened then?”
“Oh, he started blubbering and complaining. He said he needed something to eat because he was coming down with the swine flu. But his mother ignored his whining and shoved out the door.”
“Oh, wow!” my friend exclaimed. “What did her brother do, then?”
I shrugged, again. “What else could he do? He went ‘Wee, wee, wee’ all the way home.”
My friend laughed. “I can just imagine. What happened after he left?”
“My girlfriend insisted on reading from her favorite book, Charlotte’s web. What a ham. Then she showed us pictures of her pet guinea pig. She said she had a porcupine, but she had to get rid of it because it jabbed her in the tender loin and she bled like a stuck pig.”
“Ouch!” my friend commensurated.
“Yeah. Anyway, when she was finished reading, I asked her if she had anything else for us. She shook her head and said, ‘A-dee, a-dee, a-dee, dat’s all folks.’ Then they thanked us for the swill meal and hoofed it back to their pen,” I said.
“Sounds like quite a family. So, you’re not seeing her, anymore,” my friend asked.
“Nah. I dumped her after our very next date.” I admitted.
“You don’t say. What happened?” my friend wondered.
I shrugged nonchalantly. “She insisted that we go to her favorite eatery, the ‘Sooey, Sooey Trough.’ It’s a real pig pen. She went hog wild and pigged out. The only thing I got to eat was the bill. I felt like slaughtering her. So I told her that I didn’t want to pork her anymore and cut her loose.’
“Did she get over it?” my friend asked sadly.
“Oh, sure. She hooked up with a chopper dude who’s been divorced five times. Evidently, he’s a glutton for punishment. He lives in a hamlet on a hogback ridge and rides a Harley ’74.’ She even rides piggy-back with him. It’s a real hog heaven for the two of them. We may even be seeing a rasher of piglets one of these days,” I said confidently.
My friend smiled kindly. “And what about you?”
“I found someone else, too,” I said joyfully.
“That’s nice. What’s she like,” my friend queried.
“Oh, you’d like her,” I replied. “She a real lamb. Our special songs are ‘Ewe Light Up My Life’ and ‘You Ewe You. I’m In Love With Ewe.’ We plan on having a whole flock of kids.”
My friend chuckled. “That’s quite a tale. But I wonder if you might be trying to pull the wool over my eyes a little.”
Taken aback, somewhat, I said, “Was that supposed to be funny?”
