Way down yonder on the Chattahoochie

Journal entry, 3/18

Alan Jackson and his wife came into Polo this afternoon. They were here for about an hour, and proceeded to buy every pair of shorts I had in a size 36 waist.

Afterwards, a slew of my coworkers came over to inquire about the sale. Was he nice? How much did he buy? Did he still have a belly?

Then my friend Susan sauntered over.

“I was going to text you,” she said. “How was it gettin’ in Alan Jackson’s drawers?”

“Well,” I said, and rather proudly so, “it was hotter than a hoochie coochie.”

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