“The ways of the world are the ways of a woman, If I figgered them all out would take many years,” are words from a country song that I cannot hook a vocalist to, nor the decade I first heard it.  There is howsomever a heap to think about when you get right down to it.  Any man who has been manipulated by a wife, a daughter or a granddaughter will testify to the accuracy of that assessment.  I’ve served time with all the varieties I’ve identified and the talent of choreography is latent in girl types of the universe.

Go back in history to the home of Adam and Eve and you can’t help but be mesmerized by Eve’s ability to enroll Adam in a taboo practice.  She signed him aboard and they consumed an apple and got the human race off to a rocky start.  As a matter of speculation Adam was caught in the act of downing the last bite when he got caught.  Since that date men have an Adam’s apple to commemorate the infraction.

Flash forward to the time of Bill Shakespeare and the date he became legal prey after he mastered the trade of applying ink to paper with a turkey feather.  A gal of Stratford drew a bead on him and the wise old crone of the village stated that he was a gone gosling.  There were women aplenty and several had the same goal, but Anne beguiled him just like the crone predicted.

“You other ladies ain’t got a ghost of a chance at snagging him,” she proclaimed with a knowing smirk.  “Anne hath a way of getting the job done!  The wiles of a woman are an awesome force to reckon with!”  The crone, of course, was right on the money.

A young lady in our congregation was confronted with a vexing problem, awhile back, and her gender skills were called upon in a burst of brilliance and timing.  Hang on for the story.

She emerged from her rural domicile all dolled up and bound for town, but alas—the cards were arranged against her.

First off, a bull snake of amazing girth and an appetite for chickens was cruising the lawn for a free meal, so she was forced back into the house for her snake charming shotgun.

“Delays, delays,” she might have muttered, and she aimed and cured the bull snake’s appetite.  She returned her scatter gun to its handy location.

Running late, she scurried back outside and got into her vehicle, activated the ignition and the engine growled a miniature gasp that announced that the battery was batted out.

Without hesitation she drug the snake carcass out into the road, went back, raised her hood and looked forlorn—for passing motorists to see.

A good old boy diagnosed the tragic situation at a glance, braked and backed up.  He flattened that carcass with charm and grace, stopped and advised the damsel in distress that he’d done his duty with that serpent.

“Thank you very much,” she smiled.  “Is it dead?”

“It is now maam,” he stated.  “Having trouble with your car?”

“Yes, my battery has lost its charge.”

“No problem.”  Sir Galahad pulled into the yard, arranged his jumper cables and Lesa Pearson was free to roam about the country.  Thirst for additional information may be whetted by an inquiry at the Hwy.6 Café.

Let me hear from you.

My phone number is 254-893-5063.

My postal address is 333 W. Ayers, De Leon TX 76444.

You can e-mail me at Charles@CharlesChupp.com.

By Charles Chupp, Copyright ©2008 Charles Chupp