I’m writing a longer post of formal introduction to my new truck, but I haven’t finished it yet. Y’all will most likely be able to read about that vehicle tomorrow. But for today, I have a brief story about Oakley, which I was reminded of when I encountered the Frank’s Red Hot Sauce in the refrigerator this morning. The hot peppers on my Bow Tie o’ the Day underscore the theme.
I wasn’t there when it happened, but I have heard varying versions of the story many times. I am giving you the bare bones gist here. Oakley was probably about 3 or 4 when she and her family were on the road to or from Delta, which was a semi-long drive. Along the way, the car and its occupants stopped at a convenience store for treats and a potty break. The young princess, Oakley, had one complaint about her convenience store experience. She announced to all of those within earshot, “This toilet paper is spicy.” Apparently, the toilet paper in the bathroom at that particular convenience store was a bit rough on the behind, and Oakley was not about to be silent about it. What a swell description of cheap, grating toilet tissue—especially from a little kid! I’m sure you’ve heard of the Hans Christian Andersen story, “The Princess And The Pea.” Well, we had our very own Princess Oakley And The Spicy Toilet Paper.
How many sister wives did Kent get?A rare note from Nuk/Knuk.Mercedes adds the context for Kent’s note and bow tie gift.
It all began in 1969, when I was 4. I met the man o’ my dreams: Kent in a Bow Tie o’ the Day. My oldest sister, BT, married him, which I think I thought meant I had married him, too. Which, I guess, I sort of did, since he has looked out for me and made me laugh ever since, and I have no plans to divorce him in any way, shape, or form. After all these years, he is still McDreamy to me. And no one has rooted more for me about getting my new truck than Kent. In fact, he has practically nagged me about it ever since I ordered it last November. Still, after I relayed word to him that my Maverick was finally built and being shipped, I was a bit surprised when I received a note with an attached origami Bow Tie o’ the Day in the mail from Kent, who I often refer to on TIE O’ THE DAY as Nuk. Nuk has never written to me before, so this gem is a keeper.
How Kent and I got to be known as Floyd and Nuk is a tale of two completely separate tales. First, when my nephew, Travis, was little, he couldn’t pronounce Kent’s name. He called Kent “Nuk.” If anyone else called Kent “Nuk,” Travis would pipe up, “He’s not Nuk, he’s Nuk.” And thus, Kent became Nuk. Simple enough.
Somewhere near the end of 1984, Kent and I began referring to each other as Floyd. I was living with BT and Nuk at the time, while finishing up my college degree at Weber State. Although my major was English, and I was in my last quarter, I had to scurry to find one last English class to fulfill the requirements of the major. It had to be a class I hadn’t already taken and one that was being offered that quarter. I ended up stuck taking a basic Introduction to English Literature survey class with a full-blown herd of students who did not care whatsoever about anything remotely related to literature. But they could read, so they thought the class would be easy to pass. I took the class because it was literally the only English class that was available to me at the right time AND fulfilled the requirement for me to major in English.
Suffice it to say that my teacher for the Intro to Lit class was a dud. He was dull. He took all the “lit” out of literature by his very presence. He took roll every day, with 150 or so students, which took up a good chunk of class time. And if you weren’t there when your name was called, or if he didn’t hear you say “here,” you got what he actually called “demerits,” which he recorded at length in his roll book: you lost points. His bad hearing could actually affect your grade. His first name was Floyd. Well, one day I was bemoaning to Nuk all about my bad luck in getting this boring soul as my teacher, and Nuk asked me what the guy’s name was. I told him the dude’s name, and Nuk said he knew him from some church goings-on having to do with their Stake. With great sympathy, and without skipping a beat, Nuk said, “He’s a nice enough guy. But he’s drier than a popcorn fart.” That was all that needed to be said, and it still makes me chortle when I think about it. It was the perfect description of the real Floyd’s personality, or—in Floyd’s case—the lack thereof. Since then, Nuk and I have referred to each other as Floyd with great giddiness. Kent’s forever Nuk to me, and I’m honored to be his Floyd. 🍿
