I had been with my now ex-girlfriend for a few years when a new neighbour moved in next door. His name was Joseph, and he had a son (also named Joseph, or Joey, but not relevant to the story). Anyway. Joseph seemed nice enough, and he would often talk to me and my girlfriend about this and that. He and his wife were divorced, and somehow he got sole custody of Joey. He had a strange accent, but when we asked about it, he always brushed it aside.
About a year after he moved in, my girlfriend fell pregnant. I wasn’t really sure what to do because I was young, but I didn’t want to leave her. So, we got engaged and planned on getting married. A few months after that, she told me the truth. She had been sleeping with Joseph. I was beyond furious. I demanded a paternity test, and she complied. Weeks later, I got the news. “Sir, we’re sorry, but you’re not the father.” The news was too much. I broke down. I broke up with my girlfriend, went over to Joseph’s house, rang the doorbell, and when he answered, I hit him square in the eye. He laughed and slammed the door in my face. The next day, he was wearing cotton-wool over his eye. It made me feel slightly better knowing he was in pain, if only for a little while. About a month later, Joseph and Joey moved out, leaving my ex-girlfriend to become a single mother. She asked me if I knew anything about where he had gone, and I told her I didn’t. That’s the truth though. He just packed up and left without saying a word.
Anyway, the point is… If it hadn’t been for cotton-eyed Joe, I’d been married a long time ago. Where did you come from, where did you go? Where did you come from, cotton-eyed Joe?
0