I asked my friend Kyle what I should write about on my blog, and he said “me!”. So here you go Kyle, I hope you’re happy!
Once upon a time there lived a boy named Kyle. He was born atop a mountain, and spent his youth eating pies and working on his Grand-Pappy Earl’s pig farm. Grand-Pappy Earl had several ribbon winning pigs. He even imported fancy pigs in from China. They always made the best bacon.
One brisk autumnal eve Grand-Pappy Earl invited Kyle to join him in front of his wood burning stove to share some cherry pie and a glass of Bourbon.
“Kyle,” Grand-Pappy Earl growled, “It’s time you find yourself a woman. You can’t stay up here on this ol’ mountain forever. You need to git yourself on down to that there city and swoon yourself a pretty young girl.”
“But Grand Pappy! Who will take care of all them pigs on this here pig farm? And Grand-Pappy! The air down there, I hear it’s black as tar, and thick as molasses, surely my plethora of random allergies will not be able to handle such things. I’ll be dead within a week!”
Grand-Pappy Earl scratched his formidable grey beard and slowly sipped his Bourbon, mulling over what Kyle had said.
“Kyle, you know I wants nothing but the best for you. And the best for you is in that there big ol’ city. I know it’s scary, but I hear there’s what the fancy folk call modern medicine, they have them pointy needles that they stick into your arm, and such. You’ll be fine boy! Now pack up, I’m taking you down with me, we’ll show our pigs to them city folk at that big fair, and then, I’ll come back up here and your brother Willis will stay and run the farm. It’s settled.”
Kyle stared longingly into the embers, clutching his pie plate, his stomach knotted. He wasn’t sure he was ready for such a step. What is a young foolish pig farmer supposed to do in the big city?
The next morning Grand-Pappy Earl and Kyle loaded the show pigs into their pig truck and rumbled down the mountain. Kyle had packed one suitcase filled with belt-buckles, photos and his toothbrush. In his pocket he carried his lucky sow’s ear. It once belonged to their prized pig Beatrice. She garnered over $50,000 in prize money over her years in the show ring. That was, until the accident.
Once in the city, Grand-Pappy Earl stopped at the corner of Sherbourne and Adelaide.
“Out you get there boy. Be good. Find yourself a wife.” Grand-Pappy said, holding back tears as he stuffed a $100 bill in Kyle’s breast pocket and patted him heartily on the back. “Get now, get!”
Kyle stumbled out of the truck, gathering his bearings. He stood and watched his Grand-Pappy drive off, wiped a warm tear from his cheek and walked into the first unlocked door he could find. Then he walked up many stairs until he found the second unlocked door.
It turns out Kyle has wandered into the office of a Graphic Designer. He hung about awkwardly in the doorway with his suitcase until finally an older man came over.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for some work, I’m quite the hard worker and won’t let you down!” Kyle declared enthusiastically, punctuating the end of his sentence with a fist pump.
Kyle was hired on the spot. Pig farming is exceptionally similar to Graphic Design in many ways, so it was only natural that Kyle excelled quickly and became one of the city’s most sought after designers.
But with the all the distractions his successful career had brought, he had forgot the true reason why his Grand-Pappy had dropped him off in the big city: To find a beautiful lady. Kyle knew what he had to do. He had to take two weeks paid vacation, clear his schedule and find a kind, warm-hearted woman to share his life with.