On 7/18/15 10:50 PM
At the tender age of ten, I rode with my Daddy down to the county fair. Back in those days money was scarcer than gristle on a skinned hog, and I remember tremblin' when Daddy gave me a quarter that day.
"Here, boy. Go gitcha' something nice. Hell, we ain't rode all the way out to Chickasawkawee County Fair jus' to stick our hans' in our pockets."
I tell you what, that quarter weighed awful sore in my pocket. I hovered from stand to stand with my hands in my pockets and my head hung lower than a Chatahooche sunset.
"Hey, you. You're Woram's boy, aint ye?"
"Yessir thats me."
"You ever been to Greece, boy?"
"You mean like in Europe?"
"Course like the one in Europe. Ain't no other Greece, is there?"
"Well, naw, I ain't. I been to three county fairs, a church sale, and two picnics though. Oh, and this one time with Billy Keester I—"
"Boy, you ain't seen nothin'."
"Well, no sir, I guess I ain't."
"We' here, try this. They call it Greek Yogurt."
A hand shot over the counter, extending a glob of thickened yogurt on a small spoon. The instant that yogurt touched my lips I knew how I was gonna spend my quarter that day.
I guess that's how I come to eatin' so much Greek Yogurt these days.
Sent from my iphone.