An onion on my belt

I don't have a whole lot of time to post today, which is a shame since there seems to be a lot of little things pushing me over the edge lately (see: traffic cops, graduate advisors, mice, and hand soap), but I thought I should try to post once before I left town this afternoon. TinRoof and I are heading down to Chattanooga for the weekend. Her parents have been in town all week helping her move to Richmond. This weekend we're going to a friend of hers' wedding. Add possessive apostrophes to the list of things that piss me off. Thus even though I'm short on time (I have work to finish before leaving town), I feel the need to attempt to entertain my admittedly dwindling readership. Therefore I shall borrow a tactic from a wise old coot and tell you all a story that doesn't go anywhere... like the time I caught the ferry over to Shelbyville. I needed a new heel for my shoe, so, I decided to go to Morganville, which is what they called Shelbyville in those days. So I tied an onion to my belt, which was the style at the time. Now, to take the ferry cost a nickel, and in those days, nickels had pictures of bumblebees on 'em. Give me five bees for a quarter, you’d say. Now where were we? Oh yeah -- the important thing was that I had an onion on my belt, which was the style at the time. They didn’t have white onions because of the war. The only thing you could get was those big yellow ones...