I’ve recently been forced (by regular internet outages, bad winter weather, and family obligations that have kept me too much away from Bethie) to stock up on cheap novels that I wouldn’t normally have time for. That’s meant buying “something to read” off of Wal-Mart racks, rather than getting to a real book store and buying stuff more to my tastes. But there’s a silver lining in any cloud. In this case, it’s the following exchange from a cheesy 1980s western called “The Last Mountain Man” by William Johnstone:
In a general store, Preacher sized up the shopkeeper as one of those pinched-mouth Eastern types. Looked like he might be henpecked, too.
“Walter!” A shrill voice cut the hot air of the store. “You hurry up now and bring me my tea. Stop loafing about, gossiping like a fisherwoman. Hurry up!
Preacher cringed at the thought of being married to someone who sounded like an angry puma with a thorn in its paw. God! he thought, her voice would chip ice!
“Walter!” the voice squalled from the rear of the store, causing the hair on the back of Preacher’s neck to quiver.
Black hatred flashed across the shopkeeper’s face.
“Git you a strap,” Preacher suggested. “Wear ‘er out a time or two.”
The man sighed. “I have given that some thought, sir. Believe me, I have.”