“Those fools don’t even know what they’re talking about!” Dad grumped behind me, sitting at the other computer.
I turned to see what he was talking about. He was on the TractorHouse.com website, looking at new and old tractors.
“What?” I asked him.
“They call this Massey-Ferguson an International,” he said, shaking his head in disgust. “Don’t they know anything?”
I turned back to my work, and he continued browsing, every so often making “harumph”-ing sounds to the click of the mouse.
“Good heavens,” he blurted out.
“Another misnomer?”
“No,” he said, looking at a photo labeled as an International. “There’s no fenders, no exhaust pipes…” his voice trailed off into an indistinguishable mutter. “Harumph.”
Moments later, he spoke again.
“That one wasn’t right either.”
It’s either tractors or Studebakers when he surfs the internet. One or the other.
I glanced at the clock and saw that it was 10:13 p.m.
“You missed your evening news,” I said.
“It’s Monday night–”
“Oh right.”
“–watch the professional thugs chase a ball around and afterward go out and debauch themselves.”
(That would be Monday Night Football.)
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