1.16.2008

Shamless Copy Cat, Cribbing, pirate!

So I went over to Iamnot's blog fer a visit and he done pasted up a repost of what he wrote on that date a year back..." huh?" says Aunty Belle. What a fine idea when ya need to change your post but ain't got no time. So I'se cribbin' right out of Iamnot's book. Ain't even makin' apologies fer stealin' his good idea.


Turns out, January 15 2007 was a hell of a day fer yores truly. This is view of Aunty Belle some of ya'll ain't seen yet. Git ready:


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What Thrillin' Lives Does Ya'll Lead?



Maude called. She is trekkin' off ter Machu Pinch You with her bowlin' group. She'll see me in a fortnight.

Mary Ruth Buford is hosting a shindig fer some polly-tician an hired a quartet to play while they pass the chittlin's.


Life here ain't nearly as thrilling.

At 6:40 a.m., Uncle is off to mush his huskies so I started a hot bath an' went down ter make me some coffee to enjoy while I sits in a long bath with fancy sea salts and all that stuff Santy Claus give me.

I needs a pep up afore I had ter face Cerberus again today. (Yesterday, Cerberus ate my homework, footnotes an' all and I missed mah deadline. An' thas' one thang that shure doan sit well wif Aunty.)


Well, chicks, this mornin' was so gorgeous! I opened the back porch door ter breathe it in, stepped out and ...the wind blew the door shut. Locked.

I'se in diaphanous batiste. Outside. With the door locked. No Blueberry, Blackberry nor Pearl. An' the water is running full bore upstairs and every door and window downstairs is tighter than San Quentin.

I'se jes' frantic with visions of wet ceilings falling through to the front parlor, mold and mildew growing on walls forevermore. LORDY!! What is I gonna do now??

I sprint to the front yard, praying them garage windows is unlocked.

Locked. (Jehosaphats!)

I dashes back to porch, grab an afghan draped over a wicker chair (fer covering up what no eye should have ter see) and hot-foot it over ter bang on neighbor's door--MLK day, these kids are away fer a long weekend. Dashin' through the bushes (fer cover) I hustle back ter the porch.

All the while my mind's eye is seein' the water pooling in the hallway, the bedrooms and making rivers down the stairs.....Jesus! (it was a prayer, I swear)

I puts a pewter angel candlestick in the afghan and slam it against the pane in the kitchen french door. Thud.

I ditched the afgan and swung that angel candlestick like a baseball bat.

THUD.

The music of shatterin' glass did NOT come. I can report that the window over the sink is jes' as impervious to assault with a pewter angel.

Whas' that sound?? Oh, thas' me.....whimpering. Has the water reached the foyer yet? "Sweet Mother of God" (yes, it were a prayer)

Whar' in the hail is a man when ya needs one?

Guess Uncle ain't telepathic, among the gifts he doan have.*

Behind the dogpen fence there lives 25 foot extension ladder. Aunty cannot lift it-- SHOULD not lift it with bulging disc at L 4-5. What the #$%^&* &* #@!
is I gonna do now??


Ain't nuthin' fer it, ya'll.

Wish ya'll could a seen me; staggerin', dancing like a jake-leg drunk and dragging that ladder across the driveway, through the gate, up onto the porch--now what???

How's a body use this thang? I'se only got familiarity with tee-pee style ladders. This thang slides each time I try ter lean it against the second story balcony off our bedroom--with open french doors. It's 20 foot up.

Moan. LORDY!!

The cement "praying angel" statue
is the heaviest thang I can shove against this ladder ter brace it. Can I (me??) climb this thang? I'se so frazzled I cain't recollect if I'se afeared of heights!

I tuck the hem of the batiste gown into my undies (wha? c'mon, ...ya'll knowed Aunty allus wears granny gowns, l o n g gowns)-- yep, tuck it up so I won't trip on the way up the ladder, and jes' pray the gown will come untucked in case of my whirling, free fall descent and cover my middle aged excesses as I lie comatose at the bottom of the ladder. (Well, I have been driven to chocolate a few times in mah life)

Ya'll know that gizmo at the tub spout what's designed to suck off any overflow? It did. Praise be to God, His Mother, His Saints and His Angles. (Thas' definitely a prayer.)




* Now ya'll I ain't bein' mean ter Uncle...he's a real fine fella most ways...

4 comments:

Gypsy said...

Thank God you survived Aunty (and that's a prayer too :) I had tears running down my cheeks reading this although I'm sure it wasn't very funny at the time. You sure know how to spin a good yarn.

moi said...

Oh boy, this post made Moi laugh and laugh. I have a husband who travels. And is always gone when the you-know-what-hits the fan at the ol' homestead.

The one time I locked myself out of the house it was at the first abode we lived in together. A poured concrete "earth ship" house built into the side of a hill up here in the mountains. Double pane, double hung windows. Doors made out of a bazillion foot thickness of oak. After a frantic hour of trying everything to break into the house – with all three dogs providing running commentary – I finally resorted to sledgehammering the lock off the back door.

Then, because we were due to close on the sale of the house in five days, I had to drive an hour the next day, a Saturday, to the original craftsman of the door, beg him to make another one by Monday, pay him an arm and a leg, and then spend the next three days hanging, staining, and sealing the thing. It was like the Twilight Zone for Moi, because I don't DO home improvement.

Anonymous said...

hahahahahHAHAHHAHAHHHA
HAHAHAHAH
AHAHAHAHAHAHHH HAHAHAHAH
AHAHAH HAHAHAH HAHAHAH HAHAH

i remember!!!
so did you finally get a blasted key hung in that there shed out back?

foam
(blogger is not letting me sign in for some reason!)

she said...

i remember this...when i saw cerberus i thought this is the nightgown story! grrrherherhahaha