We grew cotton on the farm where I was a small child. Cotton was king back in those days down in the South. When it came time to hoe the weeds in the rows of cotton or to pick the cotton, it was a family affair. No kid who could walk was too young to get their little asses out there and hoe and pick.

Some rows were longer than other, and when you'd start at one end on a 100° day and look all the way down that long, long row, you'd say to yourself, "That's a long row to hoe."

So, if you use this phrase and think it's, "A long road to hoe," I'd like to know just what the hell you're talking about and why you're making fun of all that sweat I left in Mississippi.