I have some ‘splainin’ to do.
I have a corncob pipe.
I smoke it.
The thing about my corncob pipe is that it is an imaginary corncob pipe. It was birthed during my stint in high school.
Very rarely would boys ever call me. On the off-chance that they did, however, and Pop answered the phone, he would inform them on occasion that I was out back, smoking my corncob pipe. ‘Just give her a minute.’ he would say. ‘She has her teeth out, too. Hang on while she puts them back in.’
Either that, or ‘Cinderella, you can talk after the floors are refinished.’ or something along those lines.
Haha! I love my Pop! What a joker!