Clayton for some reason. Why wouldn’t he allow him to take his exam, or do some extra work or something to make up those missed days? Why just flunk him for no good reason?”
I’m getting pretty good at following Bitty’s swift conversational sidebars.
“Were his grades good up until then?” I asked.
“Not too bad. Some Cs but more Bs, and he usually turned in all his assignments on time. By flunking him, Sturgis could really have hurt Clayton’s future chances.”
“At what?”
“Who knows? My boys have changed their major so many times, I can hardly keep up with it, but good grades are almost always required in most cases.”
“Is Brandon still determined to be an attorney?”
Bitty shuddered. “Yes, so he says. Jackson Lee is delighted.”
“He would be. He’s an excellent attorney. So why aren’t you pleased about it?”
“Law is all right for some people, but I’d like to see my son go into a field that’s more respectable.”
“What’s disrespectable about the law?”
“All those lawyer jokes, for one thing.”
I rolled my eyes. “Honestly, Bitty, and you accuse me of being OCD. You’re much more illogical than I am.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
We stuck our tongues out at each other, laughed, and took another drink of our mimosas. Regression to childhood is always more fun with a companion.
Since it was early afternoon on a Sunday, we decided to go to brunch at Budgie’s. The current name is really the French Market Café, but Budgie used to own it and is still the manager, so locals still refer to it as Budgie’s. Old habits are hard to break.
There were several tables still available, so the lunch crowd hadn’t yet shown up when we arrived. Since Budgie had recently been forced to implement a No Pets rule, we were without Bitty’s usual furry accessory, and I anticipated a quiet, leisurely meal with no puggy interruptions. Not that Chen Ling isn’t cute in her own, inimitable way. It’s just that meals are so much more palatable without her porcine snorts as she gobbles down whatever she can reach on Bitty’s plate.
After the stress of our discovery at Ole Miss, I decided that something fattening was in order. Truthfully, I don’t need an excuse. I eat stuff that’s bad for me all the time. It just doesn’t seem fair that artery-clogging fats should come in so many delicious flavors.
I ordered fried okra, fried green tomatoes, chicken fried steak, black-eyed peas with fatback, cornbread sticks with butter, and sweet tea to drink. For dessert, I planned to order butter roll and coffee. That should encompass all the main food groups in recipes from the South: butter, salt, sugar and grease. Vegetables, meat, fruit and grains are just accidental in my favorite meals.
For those unfamiliar with butter roll, it’s similar to a cobbler without fruit. Or to a cinnamon roll swimming in custard sauce. Legend says it originated in slave cabins years ago, and they were kind enough to share the recipe and ingredients with other poor families who passed it along. It’s delicious and an excellent way to end a meal.
Bitty didn’t seem stressed at all, so she stuck to a light meal of fried catfish and hushpuppies, with a side order of coleslaw. Sweet tea is de rigueur at Budgie’s. As Dolly Parton said in the movie Steel Magnolias , “It’s the house wine of the South.” Amen.
“No dessert?” I asked when it seemed as if she might pass up some calories. I like to share my excess with others.
“I’m thinking about having buttermilk pie.”
I smiled. “Let’s order extra plates.”
“Don’t we always?” Bitty chirped.
We do. When it comes to dessert, just one isn’t usually enough. We each order a different delicacy, then half it on an extra plate so we can indulge ourselves with both and yet not require either an insulin shot or a pacemaker to get out of the café. Gluttony can be bad for your health, I’ve heard.
Besides, I’d lost five pounds and
I’m getting pretty good at following Bitty’s swift conversational sidebars.
“Were his grades good up until then?” I asked.
“Not too bad. Some Cs but more Bs, and he usually turned in all his assignments on time. By flunking him, Sturgis could really have hurt Clayton’s future chances.”
“At what?”
“Who knows? My boys have changed their major so many times, I can hardly keep up with it, but good grades are almost always required in most cases.”
“Is Brandon still determined to be an attorney?”
Bitty shuddered. “Yes, so he says. Jackson Lee is delighted.”
“He would be. He’s an excellent attorney. So why aren’t you pleased about it?”
“Law is all right for some people, but I’d like to see my son go into a field that’s more respectable.”
“What’s disrespectable about the law?”
“All those lawyer jokes, for one thing.”
I rolled my eyes. “Honestly, Bitty, and you accuse me of being OCD. You’re much more illogical than I am.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
We stuck our tongues out at each other, laughed, and took another drink of our mimosas. Regression to childhood is always more fun with a companion.
Since it was early afternoon on a Sunday, we decided to go to brunch at Budgie’s. The current name is really the French Market Café, but Budgie used to own it and is still the manager, so locals still refer to it as Budgie’s. Old habits are hard to break.
There were several tables still available, so the lunch crowd hadn’t yet shown up when we arrived. Since Budgie had recently been forced to implement a No Pets rule, we were without Bitty’s usual furry accessory, and I anticipated a quiet, leisurely meal with no puggy interruptions. Not that Chen Ling isn’t cute in her own, inimitable way. It’s just that meals are so much more palatable without her porcine snorts as she gobbles down whatever she can reach on Bitty’s plate.
After the stress of our discovery at Ole Miss, I decided that something fattening was in order. Truthfully, I don’t need an excuse. I eat stuff that’s bad for me all the time. It just doesn’t seem fair that artery-clogging fats should come in so many delicious flavors.
I ordered fried okra, fried green tomatoes, chicken fried steak, black-eyed peas with fatback, cornbread sticks with butter, and sweet tea to drink. For dessert, I planned to order butter roll and coffee. That should encompass all the main food groups in recipes from the South: butter, salt, sugar and grease. Vegetables, meat, fruit and grains are just accidental in my favorite meals.
For those unfamiliar with butter roll, it’s similar to a cobbler without fruit. Or to a cinnamon roll swimming in custard sauce. Legend says it originated in slave cabins years ago, and they were kind enough to share the recipe and ingredients with other poor families who passed it along. It’s delicious and an excellent way to end a meal.
Bitty didn’t seem stressed at all, so she stuck to a light meal of fried catfish and hushpuppies, with a side order of coleslaw. Sweet tea is de rigueur at Budgie’s. As Dolly Parton said in the movie Steel Magnolias , “It’s the house wine of the South.” Amen.
“No dessert?” I asked when it seemed as if she might pass up some calories. I like to share my excess with others.
“I’m thinking about having buttermilk pie.”
I smiled. “Let’s order extra plates.”
“Don’t we always?” Bitty chirped.
We do. When it comes to dessert, just one isn’t usually enough. We each order a different delicacy, then half it on an extra plate so we can indulge ourselves with both and yet not require either an insulin shot or a pacemaker to get out of the café. Gluttony can be bad for your health, I’ve heard.
Besides, I’d lost five pounds and
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