Next to my sewing machine, the internet is my favorite thing. Thatís where I met Johnny, and I wasnít even looking for a man. I was really looking for a recipe for roast pork with capers, and Iíve never even eaten capers. That Food Network sure gives me funny ideas.
I googled ďpigĒ, and ďporkĒ, and ďcapersĒ, figuring that covered it all. Somehow, I got directed to a message board for pot bellied pig owners. Turns out there was a fella there looking for somebody to make a cape for his pet pig, Truman. Seems most folks who own pot bellied pigs spoil them somethiní terrible. Johnny says Truman is smart as a whip, and deserves to be spoiled. Heís got him all set up in the house with a bed and a litter box.
Johnny thought Truman would need a cape this winter. Iím not one to brag, but Iím no stranger to a sewing machine. I made all my cousinsí bridal gowns, and I make my own clothes, too. Making a little ole cape would be easy.
Johnny only lived forty miles from me. I knew then that the good Lord had something special planned for us. It couldnít have been just an accident that he lived so close. He could have been from Siberia. Seems peculiar, too, that he was looking for a seamstress, and I just happened to be one.
We set up a time to meet in the park so I could get Trumanís measurements. I told him Iíd wear a big yellow bow in my hair and that a-way, heíd know me.
I got there first, and sat down at a picnic table. Shortly, the prettiest man you ever laid eyes on came walking up with a low-slung, fat black pig on a leash. It ainít every day you see pampered pork being led around by such a good-lookiní fella. He nodded in my direction and said that I must be Becca Sue. I said yes I was. He tried to introduce me to Truman, but by then he was rootiní around under the picnic table.
It didnít take long for me to get Trumanís measurements after Johnny coaxed him over to me. We hesitated a good while before we said our good-byes. Johnny and I, that is. Truman didnít say anything at all.
Johnny asked if Iíd like to go for a ride in his Mustang convertible on Friday night, and would I mind if Truman went along? I wasnít crazy about sharing a date with a pig, but I did want to get to know Johnny better, so I agreed.
He showed up on time, and since it was such a nice summer night, the top was down on his convertible. Truman was in the passenger seat. He snorted at me and we had a stare down. I thought I was going to have to ride in the back, but Johnny did make him move.
Riding in that convertible sure was fun. We got a lot of looks with Truman ridiní in the back seat. He had his snout in the air sniffiní the breeze. We stopped at a drive-in, and Johnny ordered Truman his own Dr Pepper. I think he loved it, because he squealed real loud. It shocked that snooty banker in the car next to us so bad, he dumped his chocolate malt in his lap. Truman squealed again. What a ham. I know it ainít Christian, but I laughed. I decided right then I liked Truman.
When Johnny took me home, I got out my sewing machine and worked on Trumanís cape. I added some silver studs, and made him a matching hat. It all turned out so cute, I had to call Johnny. He came over the next Friday and we put the cape and hat on Truman. He was the cutest pig this side of the Mason-Dixon line.
Johnny called me the next morning. He said he knew it was awful quick, but wondered if I might want to think about stitchiní up another wedding gown. I said Iíd think on it, but I knew Iíd say yes. Truth is, I wasnít far from being a spinster. Besides that, Johnny is a fine man. The only thing he asked of me is to never serve him pork chops.
I finished my wedding gown, and now Iím sewing the tux for the best man. I know Truman will do it justice.
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