If there’s one thing I’ve larned about clouds, it’s this: you can’t nail the custards down. They just keep movin’ over the sky, shiftin’ shape like werewolves on Halloween.
And danged if my own cloud ain’t goin’ the same way. Six week ago, I thought I had the shape nailed down tight. The first coat of epoxy and fiberglass cloth was on, stuck like a burr to a saddleblanket. And then I thought, well, I’ll just build up this bump here a little bit, and take that one there down a whisker. Before I knew it, that cloud was sproutin’ bulges everywhere, and all sorts of nonsense was goin’ on. Some bulges turned into them thangs that wimmens have out front. Others sank back down flat-like, only to pop back out on the other side like rabbits outen a hole. A couple more bumps vamoosed altogether, like they was thrown down one of them deserted mineshafts out in the Badlands by a bunch of no-good cowpokes.
It got worser. First it were just a touch with the rasp and a big dollop of bog; then it got to hacking bits off with the handsaw and sticking them back on elsewheres, like they was made for movin’.
Finally, a couple days ago, they left me no choice but to wang out the angle grinder and the electric jigsaw thingys. Them big lumps disappeared in a puff of whatever, and new bits of foam was stuck back in, and slathered in bog neater’n a madam’s makeup. It was just like doing cosmetic surgery, only bigger, and no anaesthetic, not even whiskey.
Damn, I’d better stop there, because next step would involve a chainsaw. And while this ain’t Texas, we all know where that would end up …