I'm looking for a Trophy Wife - Housewives of Butler County you're on notice!

So, I was watching the TV last night with Wendell, soaking up a mighty fine Templeton Rye Whiskey. Wendell had on the Housewives of Orange County and we were watching those ladies tear each other up and laughing our behinds off. About 1/2 way through the show, it struck me, I said to myself and Wendell. "Buford, you need yourself a trophy wife" There was one old boy on there that escorts this lady around town. This old dude can barely walk and this young chicky is out literally running circles around this guy like a yapping puppy at a mailman.

So, I'm a realist, I have no desire to roll someone 40 years my junior around the city but I'm thinking 55 to 65 years of age, not too long in the tooth would be a good trophy wife candidate.

Now, I know old Buford has got several of the ladies of the Appanoose County Red Hat Club that anxiously await each of my postings and before they all grab their walkers and trot for their e-mails, let me put up a few criteria of what you need to bring to the table and what you'll be getting in return for being my trophy wife.

First off, let me warn you, being a wife of Buford appears to have some hazard. You'll be bride number 7. I've had more wives than dogs, so that should tell ya something. In fairness to myself, I had a bad run back in 1957 and lost 2 wives within 6 months of each other. Those were wild times, I was running with the Basilicians Motorcycle Club out of Dyersville and when I say lost I literally mean lost. We were camping out in the Rocky Mountains on one road trip, Ms Greta wandered off to do her morning constitutional and didn't come back. Well I looked 15 -20 minutes but when the Basilicians decide it is time to ride, it is time to ride, if you aint on the bike, find your own way back. I never did see Ms. Greta again.

3 months later I was doing a run with Grizzly. He looked over at me and said "Altar-Boy, let's head our asses to Vegas". We did, long story short, I met a fine-looking showgirl with a nice ankle. I said "Darling, you're Bufords next wife" She looked at me, said, "I guess you'll do". We hitched up in a chapel and celebrated all the way down route 66 through the south. One afternoon we pulled into a gas station, She said, "Buford, my ass is sore from riding 300 miles without stopping" "Can we stay here for the night"? Now, back then I had a firm rule of 400 miles per day, so this comment kind of struck me as a little off-handed. I thought to myself. "How did I get hitched up with such a spoiled thing"? I said "Sure Ms. Misty, We can stay for the night. Go check into that fancy Ramada Inn over there, I'm going to gas up the Hog and I'll be back." Well as far as I know, Ms. Misty may still be waiting at that fancy Ramada which should have been her first clue. No Pickleberry ever stayed at a Ramada back then. If I ever get to Alabama, I may check it out, she's probably working the front desk.

So, that brings me to today. What does the next Mrs. Pickleberry get out of the honor of adorning her checkbook with the name Pickleberry?

1. First and foremost, I've still got a full head of hair. Now mind you, there is not much on top but it comes out of every other hole on my head. Nose, Ears, Face, eyebrows. So I'm pretty good there.
   
2. Secondly, I'm on very few medications. I've got about 17 different things that I take here and there but nothing that a few shots of Mr. Jim Beam can't cure much faster.
   
3. I have a house of my own. Its 568 square feet of pure Bufordness, just enough that takes Wendell about 20 minutes to clean and I can hear the bacon sizzling from the kitchen when I'm laying in bed.
4. I can still drive. The state of Iowa won't let me "legally" but Wendell let's me tear around the Hy-Vee parking lot at night somtimes. I've got a 68' Panhead parked in the back garage and when I get loaded up on my anti-vertigo medicine enough that the dizzy-ness goes away for awhile I still fire that old girl up and head around Saylorville Lake.
   
5. I've got money. We won't be sharing that, you do need to bring your own to the table but you won't have to worry about me taking any of yours.
   
6. I'm still semi-gainfully employed. I don't work much anymore but I still get invited to give a speech now and then or a high school graduation commencement every year. Those Rotary characters in Urbandale are a hoot and I can get them laughing so hard they squirt their lemonade right outta their noses. I've learned that I can't give luncheon talks to the Red Hat groups any longer. Let's just say there's enough widows in those groups that when I stand up to give my talk, I start to feel like a roll of salami hanging in the Deli. I can see their minds wandering and they aint thinking about my "how to find an honest car mechanic" speech.
   
7. I should have a ticket straight past the pearly gates into heaven. For almost 50 years I've been a member in good standing at Holy Trinity Church of Perpetual Guilt in Des Moines Parish. Even when I was on the road, I would weekly send in my dollar. I figure I've got over $2500 invested in my pathway to heaven. Sure I ain't gonna be sitting in the front row up there but like I said, Buford don't need a Ramada. I figure the next Mrs Pickleberry is probably gonna get a free ride alongside. So, in advance "You're Welcome"
   

So, Dan's coming by today. He checks on me Wednesday's. Fixes my lunch and makes sure things all good around the castle. Said on the phone he's bringing Chicken Breast and Shiratake Noodles. I better have a shot of Whiskey to get those things down. I'm gonna go take a look outside sposed to be 60 degrees in Des Moines today. Thinking about firing up the panhead. I'll write up those Trophy Wife requirements next time. You'll have to wait to see if you qualify. Thats all I got for today. Now leave me alone, I've got important things to do.