The Girl and I grew up together in a tiny, tiny Montana town. This is, by no means, to imply that we were High School sweethearts, or any other clich�. I used to beat her up because her brother, Shithead, got in trouble because he did it so often.

He also used to try and pimp the Girl out. At the low, low, bargain price of 5 bucks a weekend. Great deal. She never went for it, but a couple of us paid.

His favorite quote, �I love making that li�l bitch cry.� Seriously, he�s really warm, compassionate, and caring. Like when he drinks all the beer, screams obscenities at your neighbors, and then pisses on your feet.

Shithead and I became best friends in high school after we discovered our similar tastes in beer, Blues Brothers, and exposing ourselves to cheerleaders. Usually in that order. Good times.

The Girl and I have been through a few years of off and on, more off than on, but we�ve both grown and decided that we didn�t want to be with anyone else. Ever.

Sounds simple, right? Nope. Now you got everybody in the families clucking around and pecking at me.

�When you getting married?�

�Have you looked at rings?�

My replies, �yes� and �yes, they�re outrageously fucking expensive, she�s getting the chicken ring.�

The Girl told me, when we were first falling in love about 8 years ago, that she didn�t want diamond rings or 18 carat gold. She wanted a ring out of a vending machine.

Cool.

Oh, not just any vending machine though. It had to be one of those giant chickens in front of the supermarket or Wal-Mart. It had to take quarters only and it had to cluck when it shat your �egg� out.

Jeezus. She�s thought about this.

We broke up, then got back together, kind of, then broke up again. Then got back together for keeps. Now, it�s ring time.

So the pecking and clucking from the families (and her friends) started to stick with me. Shit, how am I going to get one of those goddamed chicken-rings? This may actually end up being a bigger pain in the ass than a fricking diamond.

I made the mistake of bringing it up to her one day by saying how happy I was that I could save a bunch of money on a rock and we could get engaged with 50 cents.

She gets this look. Then she drops it on me.

�Honey, I want a diamond.�

You�re fucking kidding me.

�How �bout a Cubic Z? They look just like diamonds, honey, and anybody who notices it ain�t real shouldn�t have their head that damn close to your hand.�

Another look.

Christ.

I�d even found a goddamed chicken-machine too. I�d done some research online, made some calls and found one of them clucking fuckers a half hour away. Shit.

A friend hooked me up though, and I made that insanely curious purchase (I�m being VERY diplomatic about the whole deal, since it�s over and done with and I can�t hack on my friends any more for spending a month�s salary on something that can�t be eaten, driven, or used to stop pucks).

I wanted to be traditional though, so I called her parents. I get Caveman on the line.

Caveman: Been fishing lately?

Me: No, listen� I� uh� I would have preferred to do this in person, but I�d� uh� like to ask you for your permission to marry your daughter.�

Pause.

Caveman: Okay� you know where I can get any chickens?

(Me slapping my own forehead)

This man used to threaten me in High School when me and Shithead used his fishing tackle. He called me a wussy in the 10th grade when I couldn�t lift the backend of my pickup off the jackstand, and we almost fought in his driveway. He picked me and Shithead up at the Sheriff�s office on 4 separate occasions. ALL for underage drinking (and various forms of nudity, also illegal by the way).

Now, he doesn�t care if I marry his little girl. No, he wants chickens because his mom needs something to take care of around the cabin.

I got her mom on the phone and she was very sweet, and even got a little weepy. THAT was the reaction I was hoping for. Christ, I should�ve just had him hand her the phone and then she could ask him for me.

We rented Secondhand Lions last night and, while it was pretty corny at times, it was alright. The thing that stuck with me and the Girl though, was that Caveman isn�t too far off from the shotgun-across-the-lap, importing-his-own-big-game-animals, drunken-brawling-with-four-youths days. Seriously, the guy steals fucking buffaloes for chrissake.

More tomorrow.