8 Cow Wife

I saw this license plate that reminds me of my sister, Loraine. It's posted today because her birthday is tomorrow (laaaa!) and her husband, Kory, treats her like an eight cow wife.

In case you aren't familiar with the story, it's about a rich, handsome Polynesian guy named Johnny Lingo who wants to marry the village "ugly" girl, Mahana. The thing is, he had to pay cows for her. Wives in the village bragged about how many cows their husbands paid for them for a bride price, with 5 cows being paid for the Mayor's wife.

Mahana's father thinks he'll be lucky to get a 3-legged cow from Johnny Lingo, shrewd trader that he was, as he had decided to bargain for a girl no one else wanted just so that he could pay almost nothing for her.

But when Johnny offers eight cows for Mahana, her father can hardly believe it. He accepts the offer, reveling in his new wealth while the newly married Johnny and Mahana go off in a canoe.

When Mahana shows up a few months later, her father claims he was cheated at 8 cows, because she is so beautiful and poised, she is worth 10 cows.

BUT THAT'S BECAUSE JOHNNY LINGO TREATED HER WITH THE RESPECT OF AN 8 COW WIFE!

He'd loved her since they were children, because she was kind and compassionate. So after he left the island and made his fortune, he came back for his childhood sweetheart.

Just like Kory and Loraine (except they were college sweethearts.)

Awww!

Where did you meet your sweetheart?

A Donut Date

by Shirley Bahlmann
It happened at a college ward Halloween party. I wasn't there because I'm in college, although I once was, but because my husband works as ward clerk. I was supposed to be a good influence, you know, the stable older wife of the slightly nerdy clerk, yadda, yadda. (Except that hubby is a mountain man who knows Broadway musicals and recognizes opera. He's a macho nerd.)
Anyway, someone had the great idea of tying donuts to a broom handle and dangling them in front of hungry college students. I'm telling you, it was hard to hold them back. Once the students sunk their teeth into the confections and snarfed them down, they thought it would be fun to have the older, more sedate party-goers bite into donuts without using their hands.
(Ah... but they said nothing about faces.) I wasn't going to play because I'm on a low-cholesterol diet, but I was peer-pressured into standing in line beside my husband, the dangerous donut mocking me with its sugary sweetness.
"On your mark, get set, go!"
I lunged into the donut, then swung it around with my face and pushed it into my surprised husband's cheek, and took a big bite. (Of the donut, not his cheek.) It worked so well, I did it again. Then a third of the donut fell on the floor, and I did a victory dance in my long red-riding hood cape.
But my dance was short-lived. Bob was struggling with his confection. I hate to see a man suffer, especially one I'm married to, so I placed myself in mortal danger and stood behind his donut, with the pastry right at lip level. He went for it. We kissed. (Well, if you can call mashing your lips together against a big fat puff of sweet dough kissing.) The kids laughed. We did it again. By the time Bob had the donut down, I was glazed from forehead to chin. Half an hour later, I was still peeling frosting off my face in hidden places.
I'm thinking that Bob and I weren't cheating, no, we were setting a good example of how to stay in love 30 years later.
Did you ever notice that thirds of donuts lying on the floor look like little mouths smiling up at you? They do.