There, I Feel Better
Dang it y’all, I have to get something off my chest. I hate uppity folks. I have unnamed cousins who came to town to visit once. They decided to cook us a pasta dinner one night. (Big freakin’ whoop! My kid can make pasta.) They also served us a side of crusty bread with olive oil and balsamic vinegar.
I guess they thought we were po dunk hillbillies because my cousin’s wife proceeded to explain to us that the oil and vinegar was for us to dip our bread in…
I wanted to look at her and say in a backwoods accent, “Gee, that ain’t how we do it here on the ranch!” but I’m a lady. There have been other visits when they cook or buy fine wine to impress us. All I can do is roll my eyes.
What really miffs me is that this woman really did come from the sticks in the Texas panhandle. When she was young, she didn’t even know what shampoo was. She probably used a bar of lye and sheep fat soap!
These same relatives were here recently for a family funeral. The rest of my family knows me very well – i.e. I spout off about inappropriate things every now and then. Mostly to lighten the mood. I absolutely loved the shocked looks on their faces when I asked one of my closer male cousins if his late father kept “it” in his pants when he was alive because an old neighbor of theirs had a son that looked just like him. Everyone else laughed including my male cousin.
I can’t wait to see my uppity cousins again. Maybe I’ll tell them about my last pelvic exam while eating a can of Vienna Sausages and slurping up a Buckhorn Beer.
