Tyndale market was renowned for its textiles.
You could purchase just about anything spun, woolen, or worsted. Angora, Mohair, Merano, Vicuna, you know, clothing type stuff.
One day, a wealthy old man with a funky walk came by with his plump wife with a lazy eye, two girlfriends, his twelve sons, and a few daughters.
Who knows why he brought his wife along with his side pieces to town on the same day, but he did.
As you might imagine, it was one big, festering hate fest between the three, the gossip of everyone in Tyndale.
Word on the street was, that one of the man’s daughters liked to sneak around, resulting in two of the brothers murdering a bunch of folks who just had surgery, and another one shared a girlfriend with his dad.
It was some twisted family interaction.
Anyway, they were a little threadbare and went to a local tailor and had some clothing made. It was a pretty simple affair, except for the second youngest.
The old man insisted that the second youngest have the best, finest, set of fibers with all kinds of alterations and colorations.
The old man was as proud as could be. “He was born in my old age, he has gotta have the best!”
The youngest son scratched his overly large dome and spoke in a hushed tone with his siblings. “I was born in his old age. What kinda sense does that make?”
One of the older brothers snickered. “It’s because you killed your mom when she gave birth. “Look at the size of that fivehead.”
“Shut up!” The youngest hissed.
The brothers were all beside themselves with anger about their brother and made no bones about happy little accidents that could happen to him when they got on the trail again.
The wife, the two girlfriends, and the old man’s daughters were not too thrilled either.
There was some serious bling to be had in Tyndale and the limping old man, flush with cash, wasn’t spending any more than he had to on them. When they confronted him about it, he told them he didn’t want any of them in the first place and mumbled something about being short-changed, fooled, and cheated a bunch of times.
With an entourage like that in tow, someone is bound to say something, and Larry, the town troublemaker did just that.
“Hey old man, what’s with the limp? Your plump wife is too much to handle or something?”
The old man contemplated.
“Nah, I wrestled with God one day and I beat him. Want to try me?”
Larry said no. He thought the old man was crazy and said as much… After they left Tyndale Market.