Comedy is a tough row to hoe.
Now, I don’t have actual experience rowing or picking cotton, but my parents grew up picking cotton in Mississippi. I remember countless times driving to see my grandfolks, and seeing miles and miles of cotton fields on the way. I thought they were beautiful, and I pretended they were snow, because we didn’t get much of that. But, I’ve never had to pick cotton. The only bolls I ever picked, were ones my parents let me pick so I could see what it felt like – sorta.
So, this tiny little description of picking cotton is just from what my mom and dad have told me about it.
It’s tough to hoe, and tough to pick. It tears up your fingers, because of the thorny husk on the outside of that fluffy tuft of fiber.
It’s beautiful, but it tears your fingers apart…
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