And nothing's plenty for me!
But not for you, dear gentle reader, not for you. You deserve the very very best, and so I shall give you the best I've got.
(No, it's not a boob shot. Sorry.)
Today's "best of the Tiff" takes us on a little trip down memory lane.
All the way back to yesterday.
Oh-ho! you think. What's this? Cheaping out on the tales of young Tifferdom for something so shiny and brand-new that it's not for sure if it's going to enter the long-term memory banks yet?
Well, why not?
It's quick too! And I can remember it in almost perfect detail.
Picture it: a rainy Sunday. Mom, Dad, and the Things nestled in "Pearl," the family vehicle, ready to ride back home from the beach through the many little towns along routes 158 and 17. Yes, the family is happy and tired from their impromptu weekend at the beach, and the rain makes them all a little introspective (or, in the case of the Things, "DS-aspective," if such a thing exists), creating an atmosphere of calm and peace in the little 4-cylinder riceburning mode of transport. The wipers beat their little rhythm, the wet road creates perfect white noise, and the gray skies prompt deep thoughts.
Until, that is, we cross The Second Swamp.
And its gas.
Have you ever put your nose right up to a dog's ass as it's farting out yesterday's trip through the garbage can? You know that acrid semi-burnt not-of-this-earth Fido funk? The kind that makes your eyes water and hold your mouth tightly shut to keep the rank from getting on your tongue?
That, dear friends, is the evil that is swamp gas.
At the first whiff, Thing 2 yells "Dad! Cut that out!"
But, sadly, there was no "cutting out" to be done. We were surrounded by the noxious swamp fumes. It was like being held hostage at a junkyard dog party at which rotting corpse of rat and yesterday's ground beef wrapper were the main courses.
Every breath intake another fresh assault. Every breath out a fight against the next intake.
Did you know that General Sherman (first name, Tecumseh, an awesome name that is sadly out of fashion nowadays) lost more men to swamps than to outright fighting during the civil war?
(That's Sherman, right up there! Looks like he's got a noseful, doesn't it??)
I know why all those men died. It was the gas. The foul swamp gas made them kill themselves to escape it. No man, no matter how strong, can stand that stink for long.
Sure, they can SAY it was due to yellow fever and malaria, but, after yesterday, I KNOW better.
Afterthought: I once thought Elizabeth, New Jersey, was the worst-smelling place on earth.
After yesterday, I have changed my mind. "The Great Swamp" just outside of Camden North Carolina wins, without a doubt.
Which, naturally, prompts a question: What's the worst-smelling place YOU'VE ever been? I ever so anxious to know.