Greetings from the heart of the Appalachian rainforest. Have you got your waders handy?
Meat and Tater do. They were wearing them when they showed up at my door this morning.
"O no you don't, you're not coming into my house tracking no telling what. Take those things off first."
Meat immediately began unhooking the shoulder straps. But Tater was hesitating and I could tell by her look something was...amiss.
"Wait a minute...what are you wearing under those things," I demanded from Meat.
But Meat was on a mission. The shoulder straps were undone and he was unbuttoning the sides quickly. He turned his back a bit trying to undo the snaps as the back bib dropped.
Something wasn't amiss, something was missing. Shorts. Bloomers. Under-wader wear!
"What the...?!? Meat! Do not drop those things on my front porch!"
"But you said take them off before we come in." He turned back to me holding the front bib up while the backside hung, exposing the bare cheeks of a fifty something madman. "Make up your mind."
"Who in the world wears waders with nothing underneath? Tater...? Are you...?"
Tater blushed a bit behind her slightly mischevious grin. She nodded yes.
Meat piped in, "Are you going to let us come in or not? It's raining out here."
I backed away from the door just enough to let them get inside, but not enough to let them by the front door mat. They both stood there dripping and grinning.
"You know SJ," Meat said, still holding the bib up with one hand and putting the other arm around Tater's shoulder, "Nothing comes between we and our Cabella's."
He barely got the words out before he was bent over laughing. Tater also began laughing uncontrolably. Meat had his hands on his knees, his front bib dropping dangerously low for my comfort.
"So is there a point to this? I mean, it's wet and all, but did you really need to put on the waders to walk across the lawn?"
"Across the lawn? What are you talking about, we came up from the river. We've been fishing this morning."
With that he reached his left arm down the left leg of his waders, still holding the bib up with his right. With one exagerated move, he grabbed something down the leg and quickly held it up proudly.
It was a mudcat. "We brought you breakfast," he said, and dropped the dead fish. Tater went into another laughing fit while Meat turned and bolted out the front door.
Tater managed to get "Enjoy your breakfast" out while turning to follow Meat.
I stood there stunned, staring at the carcass laying on my living room floor. The sound of the two still laughing on their front porch brought me back.
I picked up the fish, disappointed. Trout is much tastier with eggs than mudcat, but that wasn't why I was disappointed. I kinda wished they hadn't left.
Those two usually leave me much better column fodder than an old fish tale.