The Sheriff and the Cowboy

I work from home almost exclusively. Most days when I get up I throw a pair of sweats on and stumble to the office. If I go somewhere I’ll put jeans on.  If I know I’m going somewhere later I’ll usually just wear jeans when I get up.  That led to this conversation one morning as I was getting dressed.

“Do I have any clean jeans?” I called to my lovely wife from the bedroom.
“No, I’m washing them.  They’ll be done in an hour.” she yelled back from the kitchen.

No problem, I’ll just wear sweats…

“Hey, do I have any clean sweats?”
“No, I’m washing those next.  Just wear some of mine”

She wears her sweats a little baggy so in a bind I can wear them.  They’re a little short but, whatever.

“You’re out too!”
“No, I’m not… there’s a pair in there.”

I dig for a few minutes and…

“They’re pink…” I complain.
“So? You’re not going anywhere.”

Hard to argue with that logic.

Not wanting to change later I add a blue flannel shirt and white socks.  When my jeans are dry I can just slip them on and be ready to go. 

It’s cold and sunny with no wind outside so I decide to have my coffee on the porch. 

I pull a pair of work boots on and, as I walk through the kitchen, Mrs. Jinksto hands me a cup of coffee with a kiss and a big smile.  I love her.

At the kitchen door, I toss on a heavy canvas Carhart jacket and push a beat up Resistol cowboy hat down on my head.  My unbrushed hair is a little too long and sticks out from under the hat at wild angles but that’s cool, no one’s going to see me way out here.

The cold seeps through the sweat pants as I step onto the porch so I quickly take the three steps down to the driveway.  Out of the shade of the house the early morning sun feels good on a body that’s still waking up.

I take a careful sip from my steaming coffee and enjoy the rich, sweet taste.  It’s Community coffee… shipped in from Louisiana.  Good stuff.

The world is beautiful this morning.  Frost sparkles everywhere.  I stand and slowly survey my tiny domain and notice, finally, the county police car rolling quietly up the driveway. The county police here in Gaston County are what everyone else would call a Sheriff’s department.  We have a sheriff too but they don’t have enforcement duties.  Weird local politics as I understand it.   

I’ve watched enough Cops on TV to know that running when they drive up is a really bad idea.  Especially while wearing pink sweat pants.

So, like an ersatz superhero I stand my ground and wait for him to drive the last 30 yards of the driveway.  My white socks are peeking above my work boots and are tucked under my wife’s too-short hot-pink sweat pants.  I pull my hat down over my eyes.

Gravel crunches as the deputy pulls up next to me.  I slowly take another sip of my wife’s awesome coffee and look at him from under a dirty hat brim. 

He slowly rolls down his window and I say, in my best Sam Elliot voice, “Mornin’ Sheriff, Reckon you’ll be wantin’ some coffee?”

He was still chuckling when he left 10 minutes later.