The true origins of Cooter Brown. ---- 1974. The husband rolled over in his sleep, and was awakened by twin railroad spikes of pain in the back of his retinas. "Who turned the Gud-danged stadium flood lights on at this hour?" he yowled. "I opened the blinds. It's ten o'clock already, time for you to git up." His wife passed by on her way to the bathroom. "It's Satur-(*)(*)(*)(*)-day, and I'm allowed to sleep in, and anyway, shut up and leave me alone, woman." He rolled over and tucked his head under the coolness of his pillow. She nattered, "You had to stay up late watching Johnny Carson and drinkin' beer, and so now you ain't in no mood for conversation this morning I reckon. You gonna sleep the day away?" From beneath the pillow, a low voice issued. "I'm gonna sleep the day away, and then part of the night if I want to. I worked hard at the plant, and I deserve some rest. Hush up and leave me be, okay?" The wife clammed up, and continued her preparations for the day. Bare-butt naked, and clad only in a 'Virginia Is For Lovers' t-shirt, she sashayed back and forth from her clothes closet to the bathroom. Stopping briefly to curl her eye lashes, she would walk back past the bed to consider her wardrobe choices for her weekly venture to the grocery store. Finally she half-whispered, "I need to know if you need anything from the store. I'm drivin' the Ford Pinto to the Piggly Wiggly here in a bit." A sigh followed from the vicinity of the hunkered-down pillow. "Nails long." She stopped. "Nails long?" "Yeah. My toenails are getting to be sheet-shredders. Get me some nail clippers." She smiled. "I'll add that to the list." She hummed softly to herself, and walked past the bed again to re-evaluate the blouse and the jeans shorts she had selected for the day. He spoke again. "Dawgs scratching." Curious, she repeated, "Dawgs scratching?" "Uh huh. The dogs are scratchin' and kicking something fierce. See if they got any of that Hartz Flea Shampoo stuff. I'll give 'em a bath later on this afternoon after you get home." "I'll get it, honey." She almost giggled. His wife passed closed to the bed on her way to the bathroom again, and her naked hip brushed close to his bed sheets. "Cooter brown," he uttered. She stopped dead in her tracks. "Cooter brown?" He paused, and then said with a laugh not far behind, "Yeah, when we first got married yore whisker-biscuit was all blonde and shiny, and now it's looking brown like a tree squirrel. You need to buy you some of that Lady Clairol for your love pelt!!" She squealed and jumped on the bed, and rolled him up in a flurry of half-hearted fists and laughter. He guffawed, and finally un-buried himself from the blankets. Holding her wrists at bay, he looked up at her with love, and said, "Go fix me some coffee now, you hear? I think I'm going to go into town with you now, since you got me all woke up." She stared him in the eye with a bright and girlish affection, and then kissed him gently on the mouth. "You got it, my hard-workin' man. Anything else I can get fer you?" He smiled back. "No. I reckon I got everything I need right here, and right now." She buried her face in his neck, and kissed him again. "Cooter Brown," she snorted. "Yeah," he laughed, and they hugged for awhile. Somewhere down the road, the milkman honked his horn at the paperboy, a cowed mooed, and the spring morning blossomed bright and sweet.
