Pookie

The other day, I was sitting out on my front porch talking to one of the men from the church when I had an absolutely priceless preacher's-wife moment. He is a Harley Davidson sort of guy, gruff when he talks but extremely charitable. He's is a little older than my father, and he has a daughter about my age. I've been trying to think of an alias for this man, and for some reason BJ is insisting that I call him Pookie. So for the purposes of this blog, we'll call the man Pookie. This is the moment when I decided I really liked Pookie, but I'm glad he isn't my father:

Pookie: So how old are you?
Me: Twenty-three.
(Long silence while Pookie thought this over)
Me: (know what he was thinking) BJ is six years older than me.
(Another long silence)
Pookie: I would o' shot him.