A Just The Other Day… Shorthartley-stevens

My wife burst into the house, teary eyed. “Somebody stole your cooler.”
She’d borrowed my truck to take a large box across town to her parents’ home.
Most country-boys I know, carry in the bed of their trucks’ a few essential items. A shovel, a chain, a few blocks of wood and an ice chest/cooler. These items aren’t on lock-down. By tradition it’s just seen a sign of respect to never ever trespass the truck or take too strong a liking to loose items in the rear. You may covet, we all do; but looky no touchy is the rule.
Crime is not much of a problem in our small town. I replied with proper drama, “Someone stole it from the back of the truck?”
“Some jackass took it.”
I grabbed my key and hustled out to the truck, intent on retracing the route; maybe cruising the lot of the local watering hole, where just such a thief might be toasting his buddies as to the treasure he’d obtained. I was working myself into a good fit, the type most necessary if I found the culprit and a confrontation was needed.
And then… and then… I witnessed the down tailgate on the back of my truck. I looked back toward the house. Sleuth mode ensued. I visualized the likely turn of events. I returned to the house.
I said, “Hey babe, did someone take it from the back of the truck or…”
She shook her head.
“Did you leave the tailgate down and it slid out the back — off to the side of the road?”
She hesitated, nodded. “But, I drove the road several times, looking in the ditches on the side. Some jerk must have seen it, just took it.”
Her perfect eyes told the whole story and I felt her regret. I said, “Some sorry asshole — just — stole it.”
She blinked. We hugged.

The End

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