Whoever it was that we trapped into an opinion thought it was probably the water table getting low on account of the late summer harvests and everyone watering crops the way they were.
I was lost in thought. What did watering crops have to do with us, again? We have our own well. I was thinking and wondering away along these lines, silently I thought, until his expression and tone changed and he explained, as if speaking slowly to a dim-witted child, in this case me, that the water is everyone's and our well just taps into it.
How did that unfiltered thought escape? I blushed in embarrassment. And then I admired his fortitude for not busting a gut laughing at the clueless city girl. It seemed almost chivalrous to hold back from finishing me off with, Just Like an Underground River, Dear.
Ya, well, I still brine a mean olive.
