Persha, The Mail Order Bride
Butch had lived a solitary life out in the woods of Canada, and except for rare jaunts into town for supplies, he was pretty much on his own, isolated and listening to himself whistle.
On one of those jaunts he met an acquaintance and they got to drinking, and that led to his problem.
Now isolation for an occasional religious retreat was one thing, but isolation for a sane man with no real love of doing everything for himself? Well that was another thing, and Butch was getting tired of being tired all by himself with nobody to complain to.
One whiskey led to another, and one thing led to another, and the first thing Butch realized was that he had signed up for a mail order bride from Tunestan.
Putting on his best L. L. Bean™ mail order shirt, and bear greasing his Bass™ boots, Butch met the interstate bus at the bus terminal as the first snowflakes of fall fell, and waited for his lovely bride to step off the bus.
There were the typical farmhands back home from the fields for their winter's rest, grandmothers coming to see their grandkids, college kids home for the holidays, a whole bus load of school kids back from a field trip, and then Persha stepped off last.
It had to be her. It had to be a mistake. A colossal mistake to Butch's way of thinking!
Persha looked around with a growl of a smile, and fixed her good eye on Butch.
Butch stared dumbfounded back with a speechless gasp that sounded too loud even to him.
The mail order bride, his mail order bride, grabbed the two remaining, bulging suitcases from the bottom of the bus, and one in each ham-hock of a hand bore down on him like a nightmare that wouldn't stop.
He was cornered and doomed. Oh, for the solitary life he was surrendering!
The marriage permit and paperwork he had struggled to arrange in eager anticipation, was now like the death sentence document a court gives the condemned.
Persha was just plain, threateningly ugly!
She was the epitome of what Butch imagined a domineering mamushka would look like, and then some.
Butch needed a drink of whiskey....no, a bottle of whiskey.... to drown the future sorrows he could already see.
Dutifully, he took one of the suitcases and Persha followed with the remaining one and into the bar that had been headquarters central for the whole fiasco.
Persha hardly spoke a word, but by the fourth whiskey she became glib and blurted out the sweetest words Butch had ever heard.
"I refuse to marry you, Tiger Man!"
"You are just too ugly!"
"I'm here, but you had better leave before I throw up!"
The Day After....
The RCMP Mountie showed up at Butch's cabin the next day, sat down on the only other rocker inside (one that wouldn't have fit Persha) and asked: "Close call?"
"Are you going to try again?"
"Does a man saved by luck from a grizzly go wandering in the woods the day after?"
"Thought so." said the Mountie.
"Not me," said Butch with a recollecting sigh. "The only thing worse than Persha, was the two-day hangover I had from celebrating after I flattened the guy that talked me into a mail order bride from Tunestan."
"That's what I stopped by to talk to you about," said the Mountie. "He said he wouldn't press charges, if you would let him arrange another mail order bride for you. What do you say to that?"
What Butch said in reply is not something the New York Times would print.
© 2015 Demas W. Jasper All rights reserved.