Typical Day
Buck Howard, known to his rural Kansas friends as "Howdy," or "Howdy Boy," wakes up with a catlike stretch from his deep sleep. Howdy smooches his still-sleeping wife, his high-school sweetheart Bonnie, and rests his hand on her stomach. They've got a baby on the way, and Howdy couldn't be happier.
As per his daily routine, first thing after showering, Howdy grabs his signature Peach Nehi cap and wears it as he brushes his teeth. Bedhead will not be tolerated, but hat hair is quite alright with Howdy Boy. Next, he puts on his signature jeans-and-flannel uniform and marches to the kitchen.
Munching sullenly on Cheerios with banana slices, Howdy wonders what the boys would say if they could see this. Carbondale, Kansas, is a bacon-and-eggs type of place, but Bonnie has started worrying about Howdy's blood pressure. Howdy shudders at the thought of confronting her as he finishes tying up his boots.
Come 6:45AM, Howdy is out the door and truckin' along the corn-lined dirt road. Mmm, corn. With plenty of butter. Howdy wipes the drool from his face and remembers the road. He's pretty sure he needs trans-fatty acids to function, but he'll take it up with Bonnie at a time when he isn't sure she could beat him up.
Pulling up at the old grandfather clock warehouse just outside Munkden, Howdy parks his rusty pickup at the furthest spot from the entrance. The hundred-yard walk through the parking lot in the crisp morning air is one of Howdy's favorite parts of the day. That and quittin' time, of course.
Howdy's workplace is a warehouse, so the whole building is basically one big 25,000-square-foot room. As Howdy punches in, he hears a familiar booming voice from across the warehouse floor.
"Howdy there, Howdy boy! Howdaya do?!"
Howdy's supervisor, Dan McRandy, the warehouse overseer, waves to Howdy with a big rowdy laugh. Dan thinks he's clever, playing with Howdy's name like that. After all, he never stops talking about pulling off that C-plus in the AP Lit course he was placed in by mistake back in high school. No way the football coach's constant bribes and/or threats to the English teacher had anything thing to do with it.
Howdy waves back. "Hiya, boss."
"We've got a lot of crates to move today, so better get crackin'."
Howdy and Dan stroll over to where a group of guys have already gathered around a large stack. The guys are strategizing on how to divvy up the work while trading the kind of inside jokes shared only by lifelong childhood friends. Dan, Howdy, and his coworkers all grew up in the same town, strolling into each other's lawns as kids and climbing into each other's pickup trucks as teenagers. Working with familiar friends helps the time pass quickly.
After four solid hours of forklifting crates of grandfather clocks from a stack to the shipping area, it's Howdy's third-favorite part of the day. Lunch time. Bonnie has packed him a tuna sandwich as part of an ongoing effort to save up for the baby's college fund. (Which, to Howdy, is ridiculous. He's counting on the kid getting a football scholarship.)
Howdy is forced to turn down the guys' invitation to join them at the wing shack. After several cracks about who wears the pants in Howdy's household, the fellas leave, and Howdy downs his sandwich while taking a brisk walk around the warehouse. (Another "helpful" scheme of Bonnie's, but it does make Howdy feel more energized.)
The boys return a little worse for the wear, bogged down with heavy hot-sauce-coated stomachs full of wings and blue cheese dressing. Howdy takes note of his energy level in comparison to his friends'. Maybe Bonnie is on to something after all.
After three-and-a-half more hours of hard labor (and thirty minutes of monkey in the middle while Howdy attempts to retrieve his hat as the guys josh him about being whipped by Bonnie), Howdy is ready to punch out and hit the road. The guys invite him for a beer out of courtesy, and Howdy appreciates the gesture. He's a family man now, but he can't help but miss his carefree days of kicking back after work with a nice cold beer and a few laughs.
"That's okay," he thinks. There's always Sunday football, and grilling and poker. The rest of his week is now dedicated to Bonnie and Lump, which is what Howdy calls the baby-in-process.
Howdy arrives home and finds Bonnie where he left her, passed out in bed. To the untrained eye, this might look like laziness, but Howdy notices the fresh groceries, the fixed sink, and the nice maternity wear suit in the dryer, which means that Bonnie went into the office where she works and put out whatever fires popped up in her absence. She's very important around there. Howdy wakes his wife with a kiss and proposes that they go out for dinner, to save her the effort of cooking.
"As long as I don't have to dress up. Besides, I just want a burger and onion rings, dripping with grease," Bonnie says sleepily.
Howdy bites his tongue. He's not about to tempt fate.
"Whatever you want, sweetie. Let's go grab a burger."
As he helps his wife up off the couch, he pats her stomach with a smile and gives her a kiss. There's no place he'd rather be.