Chivalry Isn't Dead --- But It's Definitely On Life Support....

*

Scene 1:

Blaine and Bo are in the SUV, driving through town while Bo, as usual, chatters her fool head off, even though she is completely convinced that Blaine, being a typical male, neven listens to a dadblame word she says...

Suddenly, Blaine pulls over to the curb and stops the vehicle--- then turns to face Bo:

Blaine: "Get out."

Bo, shocked: "What the hell?"

Blaine: "Go ahead, get out."

Bo, still shocked--and also puzzled, wondering what in the hell she had said to Blaine which caused him to become so angry that he actually ordered her OUT of the vehicle: "Are you out of your mind? What in the hell did I say to you that was so bad that you are actually ordering me, a defenseless woman, out of the car in the middle of Olathe, Kansas--- seven miles from our home?"

Blaine: "What is your problem?"

Bo: "No, what is YOUR stupid problem? Why are you so angry with me?"

Blaine: "Dammit, Bo, I'll never understand you! I'm not angry with you at all. But don't you remember last week when you nagged me to death about how I 'never have the gentlemanly courtesy' to let you out at Walmart's door so that you don't have to walk in the heat all the way from wherever I park the car? Well, here we are at Walmart's front door--- and here I am trying to be courteous by letting you out--- but yet here you are STILL nagging me! So what is YOUR damn problem?"

Bo, turning her head to the right and realizing, to her mortification, that the vehicle is, indeed, located directly in front of the huge, entrance doors to Walmart: (silence)

Bo: (more silence)

Bo, humbly and shamefully, while climbing out of the vehicle: "Oh."

* * * * * * * *

Scene 2:

Blaine and Bo are in Walmart, shopping up and down the maze of product aisles. And Blaine is sporting a smug, smart-aleck expression on his face which is driving Bo mad. Bo ruefully suspects that Blaine is feeling very satisfied with himself because he was able to bring Bo down a peg or two--- and that the whole "get out" thing was done deliberately to startle the hell out of Bo for Blaine's amusement. And Bo (being Bo) is disturbed by these suspicions--- and she just can't let the issue lie....nooooo....Bo wants to turn the tables on Blaine...

So... when the two round the corner onto the frozen foods aisle, Bo did the only thing she could think of which she thought would put Blaine back "in his place".

She decided to pull one of Blaine's favorite Walmart pranks--- on HIM.

Bo: (FARTS LOUDLY)

Bo, feigning innocence while happily noticing the shocked expressions of nearby shoppers: "BLAINE! HOW DISGUSTING!"

Blaine, angry as heck and blushing furiously while dragging a now giggling Bo off to another aisle in order to escape the disgust of the fart-witnessing shoppers: "You little brat! I'll get you for this!"

Bo, still giggling wildly: "And my little dog, too?"

"Get out", indeed.......

*

*

When I Am Old I Shall Wear Psychedelic--- And A Psychedelic Hat

*

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple....

("Warning--When I Am An Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple", by Jenny Joseph)

*

Things I Do Which Blaine Claims Drives Him Insane

(or: Things I Do Which I Think Are Perfectly Fine But Other People Don't Think So But I Don't Give a Dang What They Think)

*

1. Blaine claims that I frequently "embarrass him" at Walmart.

Well, what the hell. Okay, so once when we were shopping there he made a rude comment about me "not having a brain" -- and in reply I energetically burst out singing the Wizard of Oz Scarecrow Song "If I Only Had a Brain" while merrily dancing down the middle of the canned foods aisle.

(And let me add here that I did get applause.)

He also doesn't like it when I sometimes make exuberant declarations which nearby Walmart shoppers can hear, like "For God's sakes, Blaine, why should we spend a fortune on brand-name cat food when the stupid cats aren't even GRATEFUL?"

But, truly, I think his complaint is completely invalid because there are times when Blaine creates a scene himself by farting loudly and then exclaiming: "Bo!" --- like it was me who farted, which usually results in both of us dissolving into waves of mad giggling to the stares of nearby shoppers.

*

2. Blaine complains that I talk to myself.... all the time.

Okay, they say that talking to yourself is okay just as long as you don't "answer yourself". But I will admit here that I not only answer myself, but I hold debates with myself, argue with myself, plead with myself, bargain with myself--- and sometimes hold a round table discussion group among several of my selves.

And well....like the other day. I may have been spotted on the makeup aisle in CVS Drugstore having a discussion with myself about the benefits of a new Covergirl foundation. I was debating the fact that their new foundation contains Oil of Olay Regenerist face cream, but their other foundation is much less expensive. However, I argued with myself, I needed to figure in the fact that I had a $2 off coupon for the expensive foundation---and that Blaine was going to get $3 off our total bill because he had accumulated store points with the use of his CVS "store card"---which would mean that I could get the expensive foundation for $13.99 minus $2.00, minus another $3.00 --- which comes to a grand total of.....

...and then Blaine spied me and rudely exclaimed: "What in the HOLY HANNAH are you talking to yourself about NOW?"

(Once I pretended to be talking to a potted plant when my therapist, Fred, came to retrieve me for our appointment. The utter mortification on his face was totally worth whatever crap he subsequently scribbled about me on his ever-present little notepad.....)

*

3. Blaine says my habit of talking "at" the television irritates him.

But I can't help it---things just burst out of me, you know? Like if we're watching the Nancy Grace show and it shows some heinous criminal denying everything, I might blurt out "Wait till the jury sees what's on your computer's hard drive, you MURDERER! "

Or, like when I see yet another fast-talking infomercial host talking about how some kitchen product only costs $19.99--- and then he adds that you can get a second appliance for free if you call "in the next ten minutes"--- I might holler out at the TV: "Do you think I'm stupid? It's not really 'free' if you jack up the 'shipping & handling' charges to TWICE the actual worth of the thing!"

(Which they do, you know?)

And about those ads which promise something if you "call in the next ten minutes" --- if I see one of those ads I might call their 800 phone number and ask: "Okay, did I make the ten-minute deadline?" And when the person replies with a yes, I'll blurt: "WRONG! You're lying! I waited a full 18 minutes to call! So if you guys are lying about the ten-minute thing, then why should I believe anything else you say about this product?" while Blaine rolls his eyes...

Or else when I'm watching "Gordon Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares" I might tell the restaurant owner on the screen to just "hush up and make the meatballs like Gordon says or your stupid restaurant is going to go bankrupt and your mother will be out on the street".

Blaine will invariably sigh and ask "Why do you talk to the people on the damn TV when you know they can't hear you?"

(I don't know. But I do know that a TV doesn't talk back.)

*

4. Blaine thinks it's "cruel" that I torment telemarketers or creditors who call our home.

The minute an annoying telemarketer asks for myself or Blaine, I quiz them with: "Are you a telemarketer or creditor?" and then listen to them squirm while making excuses.

Or else I'll say: "You just pronounced my last name wrong---and unless you pronounce it correctly I'm going to hang up on you." And then I'll laugh maniacally and say: "Nice try, but NO CIGAR, stoogerino!" each time they make another fruitless attempt to pronounce it correctly.

Another time I might feign timidity while fearfully asking: "Um...who is calling, please?" And then when the caller repeats themself, I'll suddenly SCREAM at the top of my lungs something like "DAMMIT, I ASKED YOU WHO THE HELL YOU ARE!" and then laugh like a hyena.

(But my favorite is when I'll ask in a friendly tone: "Could you hold on a second?" and then put the phone down....for several hours.)

*

5. Blaine thinks it's ridiculous that I send "complaint" emails to companies who irritate me.

Okay, so I sent one to Quizno's Subway Sandwiches because I object to their current TV ads where a sandwich oven is talking to the cook in an erotic tone, referring to how they "both enjoyed" some prior physical event (upon which statement the cook looks down at his private area)---and then the oven demands that the sandwich cook "put the torpedo-shaped sandwich in him". And then, additionally, the oven instructs the cook to repeat the cost of the torpedo-shaped sandwich in a "sexy manner".

For all that is holy, spare me this sordid type of advertising!!

I'm sorry, but I think that a sandwich oven lewdly begging to have a torpedo-shaped sandwich "put into him" is a disgusting method of advertising. Give me a break! What if children hear that? Call me a prude, but I think this commercial is just outright SANDWICH PORNOGRAPHY.

Because what happens if the poor cook refuses to be goaded into participation in such sexual activities? Would he then be discriminated against for his refusal? Would he be retaliated against by the "good ole ovens network"? I believe that this ad sexually objectifies sandwich cooks. And thus, I think that victimized Quizno's sandwich cooks have every right to sue for sexual sandwich discrimination.

*

6. Blaine complains that I like to buy "tacky", useless souvenirs whenever we're traveling.

So what if I like the typical "souveniry" stuff that you find in any airport, beach shop, or cruise ship dock? What's wrong with that?

(Is 'souveniry' a word?)

It happens every time Blaine and I go on vacation. He'll be in a hoity-toity shop buying some elegant Battenburg lace napkins or crystal candlesticks --- and I'll be outside on the curb bartering with a wizened old street vendor for a sugar bowl shaped like a big smiling lobster--- with matching salt and pepper shakers shaped like the lobster's claws.

*

7. Blaine says I have too soft of a heart and tip too much at restaurants and the beauty parlor.

Hey, those poor waiters and waitresses work their butts off for minuscule wages and so I feel sorry for them. And absolutely NOBODY in this entire town but Shirley knows how to cut my hair. She's the only hair stylist in Kansas who knows what the "Farrah Fawcett haircut" is.

(And I'm so very weary of teeny-bopper hair stylists who reply: "Don't you mean 'The Rachel'?")

*

8. Blaine thinks it's wacky that I believe in angels--- and that they are hanging around nearby.

But seriously, haven't you ever wondered what in the hell your stupid cats are looking at that YOU CAN'T SEE? My cats are constantly looking at "something" in the air over me--- and their eyes follow it all around the ceiling of whichever room I'm in---and it drives me crazy that I can't see whatever the hell they're seeing.

Because I'm telling you, they're definitely seeing something. Call me crazy, but I'm convinced there's SOMEBODY there.....and I have been told that it is angels.

And so I choose to believe that it IS angels. (Who else would it be?)

*

9. Blaine thinks I'm crazy for making remarks to the above-mentioned angels.

It just irks Blaine no end when I say to an invisible angel: "Hey--you there! Don't go telling The Lord that I covet our neighbor's new Rav4 Sport Edition with 4-wheel drive. My damn Jeep is shot to hell. And oh yeah--- please also don't tell The Lord that we never go to church..."

Blaine will always roll his eyes and sigh, while remarking something like: "I don't think the Lord needs a silly angel to tattle on you---He can see what you're doing His-own-dang-Self!"

And then I reply right back: "Hey, it says right there in the dadgum Bible that angels are MESSENGERS, Blaine --- MESSENGERS!"

*

10. Blaine doesn't appreciate my oft-used habit of heavy sarcasm.

For example, once, after tiring of Blaine's endless sophmoric attempts to amuse himself with loud farting, I thought I had devised a way to embarrass him. And so the next time he made a really loud and long fart-- and then looked at me with his usual idiotic proud expression--- I put on a bored expression and wordlessly held up an Olympic Games "score card" on which was written a shameful score of "2.5".

(But my tactic failed miserably when Blaine calmly retorted: "Oh, I think that one merited at least a '6'....")

*

11. Blaine thinks it's stupid that I ridicule TV commercials for not being more "honest" about what they're really trying to say.

I mean, for God's sakes, don't you get tired of those Activia yogurt commercials where Jamie Lee Curtis claims that the yogurt helps her "sluggish digestion"? Just once I'd like to hear her say: "This yogurt helps me poop better".

*

12. Blaine says some of my pranks are "moldy oldies".

Okay, I admit it--- whenever a hapless pharmacist asks on the microphone at the Walgreen's Pharmacy drive-thru window "Can I help you?" --- I nearly always reply with "Pardon me, but do you have any Grey Poupon?"

(The other times I might reply with: "Uh..yeah... I'd like two Big Macs, a medium fries....um... and a cheeseburger Happy Meal with a female toy, two apple pies, and a Diet Coke. Thanks.")

) One time a sassy pharmacist replied with: "We have Pepsi, not Coke"...

*

13. Blaine claims that living with me is resulting in his being "color brainwashed", due to my love of knitting with bizarre, psychedelic color combinations.

When I modeled the just-completed Mystery Project (which he had previously ridiculed as looking like "Mrs. Bozo's Jacket") he was extremely surprised to find that he truly liked it---but then he just as quickly exclaimed: "Oh, geez--- either I'm starting to actually like your weird stuff..... or I'm just as crazy as you are!"

(I have NEVER claimed to be sane....but I do take offense at the words "weird stuff"...)

*

14. Blaine thinks it's ridiculous that I enter what he calls "dumb contests".

Okay, BIG DEAL---so I entered the "Design Your Own Dunkin' Doughnut" contest. I defy anybody to come up with a more delicious and attractive bar-shaped doughnut than my "Bo's Kansas Cornfield Silo".

*

15. Blaine doesn't appreciate some of my frequent practical jokes.

Okay, so one time I replaced the "wallpaper" screen on Blaine's computer with a photo I had taken of him bending over, revealing a large portion of his...um.... buttocks area.

But if you could have seen the mortified expression on his face as he watched his derriere appear on the screen--HEH!---it totally cracked me up.

(Get it? Cracked me up? Get it?)

(....I guess you had to be there...)

*

The Flying Dutchman of I-635 (or Diggity Dawg Does Dallas)

Good bye hard life -- don't cry,

Would you let it ride?

*

You can't see the mornin',

but I can see the light,

Ride, ride, ride, let it ride...

*

While you've been out runnin'

I've been waitin' half the night,

Ride, ride, ride, let it ride.....

*

("Let It Ride" by Bachman, Turner Overdrive)

Christmas is coming, guys.... Has everybody been good? (You know Santa's making a list and checking it twice!) Speaking of Christmas, did anybody go to the Walmart Day-After-Thanksgiving-Sale? I was going to go, I truly was, but then I wimped out at the last minute. And I think it was because I got spoiled while visiting my sister in Dallas. Because she took me to the Biggest Walmart in the Entire World--and I mean, it was the most awesome Walmart I've ever seen in my entire life. I'll probably never be impressed by any other Walmart again. But speaking of big, EVERYTHING in Dallas is bigger---no, HUGER---than I'm used to here in Podunk. Dallas was actually where I went for my first job out of nursing school--I worked at Baylor--and I thought it was a Big City then. But oh, how it's grown. In fact, it's gotten so big---and I've gotten so used to Podunk---that I was completely in awe of the place the whole time I was there. Two days just wasn't enough to do everything there is to do in Dallas. And, drat, I forgot my dang digital camera and had to take pics with a $3.75 disposable camera. Which at first I thought was a great deal, but later realized wasn't such a great deal---because the stupid flash wouldn't work for crap on the thing. In fact, it was almost worthless for indoor pictures. But here's an outside shot of the Walmart---and it is so large that it won't even FIT into one picture. (That's the drive-thru pharmacy cut off on the right edge of the picture.) It's so big that I bet the whole town of Podunk would fit inside it. I'm not kidding---that place is huge. It has a "Home Decor" section, a "Starbucks-style" coffee bar, and it sells absolutely EVERYTHING under the sun. My sister told me that you can even buy $500.00 bottles of wine in their liquor section!

But I just can't imagine a wine snob buying a $500.00 bottle of wine there---because what on earth would they say when someone complimented them on it? "Oh, my, this is lovely wine, dah-ling," someone would say at their cocktail party, sipping out of a fancy Lenox goblet. "It has a good bouquet. Where did you get it?" And the hosts would have to lie like big dogs. Because they sure as hell wouldn't want to reply with the truth, saying "Oh, it's a nice '06 vintage we picked up for a song at Walmart-- and that bouquet you smell is probably a leftover wafting from the Scented Candle Section, which is right next to the Wine Section." (You see my point?) Anyway, they had a really huge Christmas tree in there under the American and Texan flags.

You know, Walmart aside, I was overwhelmed with the sheer size and modernity of ....well, everything in Dallas. I felt like a complete bumpkin country mouse there. And there's eighty zillion restaurants. You could eat at a different restaurant every day for ten years and never repeat the same place. My sister and I had lunch at a lovely place called La Madeleine's which contains a bistro-style restaurant, a French bakery, and a selection of gourmet coffees. I will go on record here to say that La Madeleine's makes the most delicious fruit tarts I've ever eaten in my entire life--- but it bugged me that you couldn't buy any of those wonderful little French pastries called madeleines in there. Dang it, you'd think they'd sell madeleines in there since they're called La Madeleine's, right? (When I mentioned this culinary failing to my well-mannered sister, she hissed in a stern whisper: "Don't you DARE ask them why they don't sell any damn madeleines. I've got a madeleine pan at the house and if you've absolutely GOT to have a damn madeleine I can make you some damn madeleines.")

I think she was a little touchy because one of my favorite things to do to her is to play one of my favorite games called "Embarass My Sister to Death In Public". (It's very similar to my other game, "Embarass My Mother To Death In Public".)

I will confess here that I simply cannot resist playing this game because my mother and sister are so very prim and proper. I know, I know---I'm utterly EVIL for doing such a bad thing, but I just can't help it! Because they're so prim and proper that they're simply TOO TEMPTING to resist. Their perfect manners and delicate countenances practically BEG for embarassment and mortification. I mean, they are two very beautiful ladies who never have a hair out of place, never do anything unladylike, and are utterly charming at all times....and whenever we're in public I find myself looking around for whoopee cushions or Groucho Marx spectacles---because it's just too delicious to see them turn three shades of pale and try to slink away un-noticed and pretend not to be related to me. I always follow and say things like: "She's trying to pretend she's not related to me--but she's my sister, everybody!"

(It's like a sickness with me.....I've been doing it for years.)

But .... surprise, surprise... when we were at Walmart and I started my predictable antics, my newly-confident sister slayed me with one simple statement. "Go ahead and try your shenanigans. It won't bother me in the least---because I'm immune to you."

But I wasn't worried. What? Immune to me? Bah! And so I tried everything on her---all my best ammunition, all my best routines. I tried the Country Bumpkin Routine where I talk in a Gomer Pyle voice and holler out things out like "Whar in the tarnation are them thar douche thangs?" but it didn't even phase her. She simply pointed her finger and replied evenly: "Over there in the Personal Hygiene Section."

So I tried the Rapper Video Routine where I strut up and down the aisles dancing and posturing like a rapper, saying things like "Yo! Yo! Yo! Hey homey-sistah--where's the Bling Section?" I glanced at her to see if she was mortified but she calmly turned to the shopper next to her and said: "The poor dear--we brought her out to shop for feminine hygiene items today, but she's got to be back at the Insane Asylum by 5:00 pm."

Her unexpected composure caused me to panic--and so I got desperate and started doing free-form clowning for all I was worth, all up and down the next few aisles, thinking that I'd fix her little red wagon for SURE---but it went wrong, so very, very wrong.....because I degenerated to such new lows that I actually embarassed MYSELF by resorting to scrubbing my armpits with a long-handled shower brush in the Bath & Body Section.

And it was then that I realized the terrible truth.....I simply didn't want to believe the horrible fact....(you don't think?!?).....and, reluctantly, I was forced to suddenly come to my senses, stopping dead in my tracks, completely horrified in the blinding flash of a moment of clarity...a moment which revealed the ugly truth to me.... that my sister has finally....and at long last.... truly become IMMUNE to me!

AAARGHHH and DAMMIT!

(I was going to try scrubbing my er...personal area, but couldn't bring myself---I simply didn't have the guts---and I knew, sadly, that it was the End of an Era....)

(Oh, the humility!.... But, sigh, I guess we all have to grow up some time...)

(I just hope she doesn't blab about this to my mother--because if my mother ever becomes immune to me then I'll truly be lost....)

Anyhoo, after our visit to La Madeleine's and the Biggest Walmart in the Entire World, my sister took me to an even MORE wonderful place.....which is The Woolie Ewe yarn store, YEAH!

When I saw that place, I thought Yarn Heaven, thy name is Woolie Ewe. Because I definitely thought I'd died and gone to Yarn Heaven, I really did. They had EVERYTHING in the world a knitter could want. Every shelf in there was draped, covered, and surrounded by all the most wonderful yarns, knitting books, yarns, needles, yarns, gadgets, yarns....and did I say, YARNS? All I could do was drool. Because it has literally been years since I was able to go to a real knitting store and pet the yarns.

I would have liked to go to a bunch of other knitting stores but we simply didn't have the time, and The Woolie Ewe is fairly near to my sister's neighborhood. I bought myself a sampler of some very luscious yarns, including some Schaefer "Miss Priss" in a couple of colors, some Debbie Bliss Cashmerino Aran, and some Plymouth metallic-flecked Mira Mira. I also grabbed some Addi Turbo's while I was there. There was a nice social group in there, sitting around a table knitting and talking--but alas, I was far too shy to say anything. (Yes, it's true---I'm extremely shy in public when acting respectable and not hollering in a Gomer Pyle voice about douches to my sister in Walmart--go figure.)

(And...well, also, I... er.....certainly didn't want to get myself thrown out of The Woolie Ewe in utter disgrace for something as ridiculous as playing the "Embarass My Sister To Death In Public" game in there, that's for dang sure. Believe me when I say that I was on my BEST BEHAVIOR in there...)

There is all kinds of wondrous shopping in my sister's lovely neighborhood. She lives in a story-book house in Carrollton where she does all her own landscaping and flower gardening. She's amazing, like my mother. (I don't know why they put up with me.)

And see that tree? Two years ago my teenaged niece hid an Easter Egg up in that tree during our family's Annual Adult Easter Egg Hunt. Yes, she actually hid an Easter Egg up there. Does she think I'm agile or something? I spotted the egg and claimed it for myself---but I made her climb up there and get it for my Easter Basket. Because although I can usually rise to any occasion, and have been known to hop many a ranch fence during my visits to patients, I am not quite up to tree-climbing with an Easter Basket on my arm during an Easter Egg Hunt....

Anyway, my sister and I had the greatest time ever during my trip to Dallas. My niece came home from Texas Women's University for the weekend and we watched movies and hung out. My sister didn't make me any madeleines but she did make me some homemade currant scones, which we had with our tea that Sunday morning as she showed me some of her artwork. She's an oil painter, like my mother, and also does needlepoint. Here's her staircase wall where she has some of hers (and my mother's) oil paintings and needlepoint, hanging near the picture of my grandfather wearing his cowboy hat:

As much as I love Dallas, it has really grown in size and hustle-bustle since I was there last. It's more cosmopolitan than ever before, and waaaay more sophisticated. Truly a great place for this little country girl to go shop and see the sights. There's really only one bad thing about Dallas and that is, of course....... THE TRAFFIC.

My GOD, but Dallas traffic is truly horrible. It is lunacy in motion. Because those people are insane. They WILL NOT LET YOU CHANGE LANES there. Really! They won't let you. If the other cars on the road even SUSPECT that you are going to change lanes, they will all speed up and box you in, preventing you from changing lanes. And if this happens to you while on Interstate 635 (which is configured in a big circle around Dallas) you could find yourself circling Dallas for all eternity. SERIOUSLY! You could end up becoming the dang Flying Dutchman of Interstate 635, and I am not kidding here.

Thus, you have to make a decision about where you're going to turn at least 5 miles away from where you actually want to turn--just so you can have time to do the required lane-changing. But I got stubborn. And mad. Those crazy Dallas drivers thought that they would frighten me, eh? Hell NO! They underestimated this little Road Nurse, OH, YES-SIR-EE-BOB!

Because, as they say here in Podunk, it ain't my first rodeo, ya get me? I practically LIVE on The Road!

So whenever I wanted to change lanes, I pulled out some of my good ole Dukes of Hazard techniques. I flipped on my turn signal, grimaced at the drivers near me, yelled something hideously wicked in my loudest hick voice, and then GUNNED THE ACCELERATOR, by God. And I'd subsequently barrel my way across the 6-lane highway like a bat out of hell. I changed lanes, dammit!

I don't know whether it was my redneck-style, bold, in-your-face driving that showed the Dallas drivers that I meant business or else my yelling and cursing in a totally hick, Daisy-May accent. But whatever it was, it worked. So just in case it actually WAS the stuff I was yelling-- and you would like to use such epithets for yourself the next time you're on Interstate 635 in Dallas-- here's some examples of Tried and True Hick Things to Yell on the Road at Insane Dallas Drivers (they worked for me and so I'm sure they'll work for you) (And be sure to yell them in your best hick accent--see my "Podunk Travel Guide" with the section on Hick Dialect and Terminology):

Example One: "YEE-HAH ya lilly-livered road hogs! Stick THAT up yer BMW!"

Example Two: "YEE-HAH--and tell THAT to the State Trooper, baby! CUZ HE'S WEARIN' A COWBOY HAT AND WON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT A PISSANT TOYOTA!"

Example Three: "HOLD YER HORSES, greenhorns--cuz this Jeep's gonna CLOCK THE BARRELS!! So get the hell out of my way or be STOMPED TO DEATH!"

Example Four: "HOT DIGGITY DAWG, ya yeller-belly, egg-suckin' yard dog--it's TEN POINTS if I hit a PORSCHE!"

In defense of my violent nature here, you have to remember that I'm sooooo not used to traffic the likes of Dallas's. (Yes, I know that I didn't need the extra 's' on the end of 'Dallas' but that's the way I pronounce it and so I just can't resist spelling it that way.)

(I also pronounce the word "Crème Brûlée" incorrectly, pronouncing it instead using the hick dialect inflection of "creme BREW-lee" , a hideous sound which causes my sister to cringe in excrutiating pain every time she hears it.)

Anyhoo, I mean I'm used to the kinder, gentler traffic in Podunk where things go so slowly that I can gossip on the cell phone with Belinda, write Post-Its, ogle the paramedics hanging out in front of the Paramedics Barracks, eat hamburgers, wheedle doctors on the cell phone, argue with patients on the cell phone, and text-message...all while driving.

But all I could do in Dallas was grasp the steering wheel with both hands in a death-grip while staring in unabashed fear at the crowded highway in front of me--- while praying out loud to all that is holy that I'd make it off I-635 in one piece and alive. In fact, to prove my point, let me use illustrations. Here's a picture of the average Dallas death-trap road:

And here is a picture of the worst road-hazard that good ole Podunk traffic has to offer: See what I mean? Anyway, Dallas hazards aside, I made it back in time to make another Road Trip in the opposite direction to my mother's house for a wonderful Thanksgiving there. We had a houseful including myself, my sister and niece again, my nephew, and some family friends. It always cracks me up to watch my sister and mother in action in the kitchen because they are both "set in their ways" in regard to kitchen stuff. When I walked into the kitchen I could instantly see that there were "too many cooks" and so I wisely sat off to the side, knitting with my new yarn from the Woolie Ewe. The free-floating anxiety level in there was quite high and I think it was due to some sort of squabble over The Turkey. It seems that one of them wanted to use a Butterball Turkey but the other one wanted to use an "offbrand Turkey". I don't know who eventually won the squabble--- and I have no earthly idea which kind of turkey we actually ended up eating---but the dinner was fabulous and I brought home a week's worth of delicious leftovers. What cracked me up was that, at various times, I noticed my sister giving me "the look" behind my mother's back--which I, of course, have to "reply to" with a "look" of my own. And it drives my poor mother to distraction because she never really catches us in the act of "looking", but she definitely "suspects" that something's going on. So every fifteen minutes or so, just to prove that we're not fooling her, my mother will defiantly say something to the effect of "I know y'all are talkin' about me behind my back but I don't care!" But what my poor mother doesn't realize is that it just wouldn't be very much fun to have a family get-together if my sister and I couldn't give each other "the look" behind her back. I mean, what is being part of a pair of naughty sisters if you can't give each other "the look" behind your own mother's back? And my sister and I have raised the level of our facial expressions to a veritable art form--and I defy any professional mime to do it better. Our subtle, yet meaningful, looks can signify an entire host of maternal issue complaints--anything from "She's doing it again!" to "My God, she put the dog on a dang diet because the vet said that his body fat ratio was too high!" But my mother actually got off lightly at Thanksgiving---because at least my sister and I didn't play our truly favorite game. Which is where it all began, in childhood, when my sister and I were around 7 and 8 years old--- and we developed a serious vice playing that age-old game called "See-Food". Although I know that lots of children play "See-Food", I am proud to say that my sister and I raised the integrity of this game to Olympic Sport levels--and we were definitely Gold Medalists. The object of the game was twofold--that of causing your sister to observe your open mouth with chewed-up food in it, and that of NOT getting caught by one's parents. We two idgits shamelessly played this stupid game until we were well out of childhood. But then, alas, it all came to an ugly end. I had gone home during a college vacation one year and my sister and I happened to be playing the game during our evening meal---and, unbelievably, our deceptive skills slipped and my mother actually CAUGHT US in the act. We thought for a minute that both of us were doomed, but all my mother did was stare dumbfoundedly for a minute or two, the realization dawning upon her shocked face slowly ---and then she simply put down her napkin, turned to my father, and stated "So THAT'S what they've been doing all these years!" (I don't know whether the word "dumbfoundedly" exists or not, but somehow it just fits, you know?) I was telling my boss Lu-Lu about the whole "See-Food" thing thing and she confessed to an equally ingenious game that she and HER sister use to play behind their mother's back, the one called the "We're Not Really Sayin' Ugly Words" game (her telling of which caused me to practically PEE MY PANTS laughing.) Lu-Lu, like many of us here in Podunk, grew up in a strict Baptist home where "cussing" was totally forbidden. So she and her mischevious sister would titillate themselves (behind their mother's back, of course) by reciting, back and forth to each other, parts of "ugly-word" syllables--- and then laugh like hyenas as they sassily rationalized to themselves that they "hadn't actually said ugly words". The game goes like this: Lu-Lu says: "Duh..." Then Lu-Lu's sister says: "..amn" Lu-Lu says: "Sh..." Then Lu-Lu's sister says: "..it" Lu-Lu says: "Pee..." Then Lu-Lu's sister says: "..nis" Lu-Lu says: "Fuh...." (You get the picture?) If their mother had caught them doing this, they'd have both gotten whuppin's. But they never got caught, Lu-Lu said with satisfaction. (But then she ruefully added that she had gotten her just desserts because the game had "completely ruined cussing" for her forever --- because to this day she still can't enunciate a cuss word in its entirety at one time, and instead is only able to blurt out something like "Duh....AMN!" or "Shuh....IT" instead. "I'm cuss-word-challenged!" she wailed sadly. (And I'm dang glad that she cleared that up for us because we all thought she had a speech impediment or something.) (I guess you'd have to be two sisters who grew up in a strict Baptist home to see where games like "See-Food" and "We're Not Really Sayin' Ugly Words" would be considered funny as hell...) Where was I? Oh yes, Thanksgiving. How in the Sam Hill did I get onto the topic of all these stupid childhood games? Ahh well....perhaps it's simply my way of expressing (mourning?) the passing of my lost youth?... ....now that my dadgum sister is immune to me, sigh. Anyway, my trip to Dallas and Thanksgiving at my mother's was great. And I get to look forward to doing it all over again at Christmas. And I will eat like a Queen for a week on those Thanksgiving leftovers. And, so, I returned to my beloved Podunk, my Jeep's trunk overflowing with a bounty of turkey leftovers, yarns from The Woolie Ewe, a red tea-kettle and colander from The Biggest Walmart in The Entire World... and now I can settle in for the business of Getting Ready For Christmas. * I knew I was truly home today when I went out onto my balcony... and I could hear the faint sounds of the cattle auctioneer in the distance---and I suddenly remembered that there's a Cattle Auction today up by the Fire House. Home Sweet Home......

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