An old time citrus farmer in Florida owned thousands of acres of orange groves that had been passed down through generations. He had a small lake in the back, set back a spell, that was well stocked with large mouth bass and catfish. Surrounding it were his best orange trees. His property was fixed up real nice-like, too, with picnic tables all about under shady live oak trees draped in Spanish moss. There were horseshoe courts and plenty of other fun things to do, plus a good sized vegetable garden. On many days, the scent of freshly caught catfish and just picked okra frying filled the air. The wafting aromas were downright friendly and inviting.
Early one evening the old farmer decided to go down to the lake, as he hadn't been there for a while, and look it over. He grabbed a five-gallon bucket to bring back some oranges from the nearby trees. As he approached the lake, he heard water splashing and voices shouting and laughing with glee.
As he came closer he saw it was a bunch of young women skinny-dipping. He made the women aware of his presence and they all went to the deep end of the lake.
One of the women shouted to him, "We're not coming out until you leave!"
The old man frowned. "I didn't come down here to watch y'all ladies swim naked or make you get out of the lake." Holding the bucket up he said, "I'm here to feed the gator."