I'm the Jane Goodall of Dairy Queen

Little did I know that when I popped into the DQ at 9:30 pm with my husband, I would have an anthropologically enlightening experience.

The male entered first. He was huge - almost bear-like in appearance. (Ar first, I must admit he was the love child Rosie O'Donnell and one or more of the Oak Ridge Boys.) He had a regal quality about him. Judging by his clothing (and the fact that we were in Farmersville) he must have been a regional dignitary or some other person of importance. He was wearing a mostly-white, cotton v-necked T-shirt, expertly festooned with tiny portions of what I can only assume was his afternoon meal. I suspect the fabric was something of high quality, such as "Fruit of the Loom." His lower half was equally stunning, having an equestrian feel. On his lowerhalf were loosely hung olive drab and kelly green, plaid, flannel pajama bottoms with the aforementioned shirt tucked neatly inside. These were pegged inward sharply just below the knee by what I thought, at first, were riding boots. Further observation confirmed that they were in fact what the locals call "Mud Boots." This was further clarified not only by the preponderance of elderly earth clinging to nearly every surface, but also by the single word "Caterpillar" embossed on the back of the heel. He was a SPECIMEN to be sure.
I was already reeling from the experience of observing such a specimen in its native habitat, and did not even dare to dream of seeing the female of the species. Then, to my astonishment, she appeared!!! She was even more than I ever dreamt she would be, so I decided to give her a name. I called her Tiffany Lurlene Pickens. She nearly defies description, but try to picture a supremely man-scaped version of Ed Asner in glittery flip-flops, dragonlady fingernails and scrunchied ponytail all akimbo, sticking out the back of a grimy John Deere ballcap. She dazzled me by rocking her "John Deere meets Juicy Couture" look. Black toenails were nearly eclipsed by the glitter of her sequined flip-flops (she obviously shopped at Porter Waggoner's estate sale). From the generous smear of mud on her left calf, I can only assume that the male marked her as his property using one of his boots. Obviously, she was a "keeper."

She oozed confidence. This was evidenced by the (gulp) lavendar terry cloth UBER-short shorts and matching (brace yourself) halter top with a big, white "#8" on it. To say she was a fashion daredevil was an understatement. She was the Evil Kinevel of fashion. I would imagine that, as a woman, one would have to have absolutely no fear in order to wear a brassiere that is four sizes too small. I surmized that, like her mate's heavily adorned T-shirt, this served to show dominance and superiority, as the undergarment (which could only have been crafted of adamantium) affected the illusion that Tiffs had four breasts rather than the usual two. I will have to confer with one of my colleagues, a specialist in proto-human anatomy, to discover if any of our distant ancestors had "fore-bosoms."

Tiffs has a mane of black hair with blonde roots grown out about an inch and a half. This completed her "I'm an inverted Madonna" look.

The female of this particular hominid species LOVES personal adornments, and is very obviously a predator, for her fingertips sported Pepto-pink, raptor-like claws approximately two and a half inches long. These, I am sure, are multi-functional, as she repeatedly used them to scratch her netherparts in what I can only guess was a show of dominance. Fascinating!

Then, as quickly as they came, the pair collected their Belt Busters and Oreo Blizzards and vanished into the night somewhere along highway 380.