On my way home from work a couple of months ago I passed by neighbor Clay’s house. I toot the horn and waive as normal. You see, momma raised me with manners and in the south when you drive past someone you know, like a neighbor, you toot the horn and waive. My grandpaw did it. My dad did it. I do it. It’s just a habit. One of the charms of the living in the south.

The only thing that drives me a little crazy is that Clay has this five foot punching bag hanging from his front porch and it fools me every dad-gum time. It looks like someone standing there minding his own business. I toot and waive at this stupid punching bag every single day. Well this time I had had enough!

As I toot the horn and waived and realize what just happened again, I hit the brakes, backed up and pulled into Clay’s driveway. I got a sharpie out of my glove box, walked up to the punching bad and drew some eyes, a nose and a mouth on it. Then I punched that bag right square in the face. 

Take that Mr. Everlast punching bag.

I turned to go get back in my truck but something told me to turn around and punch it again. I spun around, rared back my fist and POW! Right in the mouth a second time. It felt so good!

Yes, we’re all real friendly here in the south but that usually only extends to real people.  Sorry, Clay! I’m just sayin’.