On Tuesday, Mr. B and I had a fight. And it got pretty nasty. 

Since his older brother (and all the usual slackers helpers) weren't available to help him bale hay, I got to suit up in my work jeans, a cut off t-shirt and an old Cardinals hat to be his little helper. I was lookin' hot. 

Maybe because it was 105 degrees outside. Yeah, probably.

So here I am, doing pretty well at snatching the bales and stacking them on the rack like a champ, wiping the sweat from my forehead, when it hits me. My arms feel like wiggly jello. Strawberry jello because I'm burnt to a crisp. 

"Mr. B, I can't lift them anymore," I whined.

"Alright, well how 'bout you drive the tractor and I'll finish up on the rack," he graciously offered.

What a gentlemen.

So I hop on the tractor and start bouncing on the seat like a little school girl with candy. Up and down, up and down. Those things are so much fun. When I had enough of my joyride and Mr. B had rolled his eyes at me 7 times I put it in gear and started going. Crap, I suddenly realize this is hard.

"Kallie, turn left!!" he yells.
"Kallie straighten it out!" he yells, again. 
"Kallie you have to watch where you are going AND watch the baler too!!" 

"I can't do this!" I cried.

Then he jumped off the tractor and left me there driving the huge thing. No way jose, you did not just leave me alone on here. I was livid. 

But then I looked at him hop up on the rack.
Then I looked at his biceps.
And I realized that he must think I can do it.
And I realized he knew that I wasn't going to get hurt.
And really, I knew I could do it.
So, we made up, instantly.
Even though he didn't even know we were fighting. 

Love you babe.

1 comment:

carbien said...

Would love to see you sailing down the road on the tractor ! ! !
Am thinking the New York gal is long gone !