But right down the road in the neighboring town is something that recently set gossipy tongues on fire.
They built a strip club.
Now, this isn't just a little hole in the wall.
It's not a saloon wedged in between the antiques barn and the condemned video store.
It's not the old fix-it shop converted into a theater.
It's a giant pink and purple pole barn that advertises GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS!
At night, three neon X's light up the rooftop.
It's gaudy, tasteless and really has no business in this little town.
But honestly, I pass the place nearly every day and rarely give it a thought. As long as the dancers, patrons and whatever else goes on there stays inside, then let them be.
(I do believe in Karma, though, if you know what I mean....)
This morning as I was taking my husband to work, and we were approaching the club, his head suddenly jerked to stare out the window.
"Looky there..." he sighed. "Oh, myyyyyyyy ...my goodness..."
I jumped into Alert Mode and strained to see if some half-clothed floozy had stepped from the pink party lights into the soybean-dusty air.
I half expected to see a blow-up doll of carnival proportions flying above the interstate.
My dear husband was breaking his neck to see four John Deere tractors with bush hogs lined up by the roadway.
Whew! Close call! He sure was lucky!
Because my wrist slapper was feeling particularly well-oiled this morning and my elbows were nice and sharp for rib punching.
Then he said it was a sure sign of growing old when you get excited about tractors instead of
And we laughed about it.
Places like this strip club come and go.
And most likely this one will go soon.
After some research, I found out it's a $15 cover charge, you have to bring your own booze, and customers rated the dancers a 2 on a 10 point scale.
No wonder those tractors looked so sexy!