won’t be laughing when you’ve got Ol’ Bony Butt after you.”
“Surely with all the other heathens in town, I’m far enough down her ‘come to Jesus’ list to avoid too much grief.”
“I don’t know why you say ugly things like that; you most certainly did not learn blasphemy in my home.” Lucille stared at me, grinding her teeth, chewing around for the very best words. “I’ll tell you one thing, Ethel may have herself convinced that Bobcat’s got the hots for her, but I know better, carrying on like teenagers in front of the whole town. It’s just sickening, that’s what it is.”
Say what? I tossed my purse and keys back on the table. “You want to explain that? Start with Bobcat.”
Lucille propped herself against the cabinets, her fingers clickety-clacking on the counter. “He’s Tiger’s second in command and Ethel Fossy has latched on to him like a tick,” she said, her voice escalating in both volume and speed. “She seems to think he’s interested in her, but he most certainly is not… interested in her in that way. Not really. Any idiot can see what’s going on. He’s just using her and she’s acting like a fool. Why, he’s twelve years younger than she is. Just because she started dying her hair and painting herself up like a rodeo clown, which I’m just sure is mortal sin, especially at that narrow-minded church she goes to, does not change the fact that she looks old enough to be his mother. She keeps it up and I’m going to tell her that he came after me first but I had more sense than to just fall for some fool who’s only looking for a piece of tail, and why on earth he’d want that piece is just beyond me.”
Oh, there were apparently so many, many things that were beyond me, and the list grew every time my mother opened her mouth. Realizing my jaw had fallen open, I shut mine.
“And that’s another thing,” Lucille said, oblivious to the fact that I was not enjoying her senior sex story time. “That hussy hypocrite’s been talking dirty about me behind my back all this time, preaching at me, calling me names—you remember all that slut business—and now look at her. Look who’s acting dirty now! Why, I ought to give her some of her own medicine, that’s what I ought to do.”
“Alright, enough,” I said, stopping her before she worked herself—or me—into a stroke. “Let’s take this one trauma at a time.”
Lucille grabbed the dishtowel again and slapped it against the counter. “There is no trauma here, Jolene, and I have nothing further to say about that holier-than-thou lying, hypocritical, cheap, painted-face slut. She can hop into bed with every one of them for all I care, and she probably already has. Just a little bit of attention and all of a sudden she’s one of those sex groupies.”
Sex groupies? Religious fanatic Ethel Fossy, a sex groupie? Now that pushed the bounds of plausibility, even for Kickapoo. But, speaking of groupies, “What happened to Velma Brotherton? I thought she and Ethel were joined at the hip. How does she fit into this?”
“She doesn’t.” Lucille snorted in a highly undignified manner. “When Bony Butt started following around after these newcomers like a slobbering blind sheep, Velma high-tailed it back to California. Everybody had just figured they were like Jerry Don’s ex-wife, but now that Ethel’s run off with a man hippie, it makes you wonder. I’ve read that some people like both, they call it bisexual.” She waved her hand to dismiss the topic. “Whatever the case, she’s sure whoring it up and preaching hellfire all at the same time.”
If even a fraction of my mother’s tale could be believed, the potential that Ethel had been sucked into some weird cult was very real. “Messiahs, brainwashing and Grandma Gone Wild. Please tell me religion is not involved here.”
Lucille puffed out her chest. “Not real religion. Not like the Methodists, of course, or the Baptists for that matter, even
“Surely with all the other heathens in town, I’m far enough down her ‘come to Jesus’ list to avoid too much grief.”
“I don’t know why you say ugly things like that; you most certainly did not learn blasphemy in my home.” Lucille stared at me, grinding her teeth, chewing around for the very best words. “I’ll tell you one thing, Ethel may have herself convinced that Bobcat’s got the hots for her, but I know better, carrying on like teenagers in front of the whole town. It’s just sickening, that’s what it is.”
Say what? I tossed my purse and keys back on the table. “You want to explain that? Start with Bobcat.”
Lucille propped herself against the cabinets, her fingers clickety-clacking on the counter. “He’s Tiger’s second in command and Ethel Fossy has latched on to him like a tick,” she said, her voice escalating in both volume and speed. “She seems to think he’s interested in her, but he most certainly is not… interested in her in that way. Not really. Any idiot can see what’s going on. He’s just using her and she’s acting like a fool. Why, he’s twelve years younger than she is. Just because she started dying her hair and painting herself up like a rodeo clown, which I’m just sure is mortal sin, especially at that narrow-minded church she goes to, does not change the fact that she looks old enough to be his mother. She keeps it up and I’m going to tell her that he came after me first but I had more sense than to just fall for some fool who’s only looking for a piece of tail, and why on earth he’d want that piece is just beyond me.”
Oh, there were apparently so many, many things that were beyond me, and the list grew every time my mother opened her mouth. Realizing my jaw had fallen open, I shut mine.
“And that’s another thing,” Lucille said, oblivious to the fact that I was not enjoying her senior sex story time. “That hussy hypocrite’s been talking dirty about me behind my back all this time, preaching at me, calling me names—you remember all that slut business—and now look at her. Look who’s acting dirty now! Why, I ought to give her some of her own medicine, that’s what I ought to do.”
“Alright, enough,” I said, stopping her before she worked herself—or me—into a stroke. “Let’s take this one trauma at a time.”
Lucille grabbed the dishtowel again and slapped it against the counter. “There is no trauma here, Jolene, and I have nothing further to say about that holier-than-thou lying, hypocritical, cheap, painted-face slut. She can hop into bed with every one of them for all I care, and she probably already has. Just a little bit of attention and all of a sudden she’s one of those sex groupies.”
Sex groupies? Religious fanatic Ethel Fossy, a sex groupie? Now that pushed the bounds of plausibility, even for Kickapoo. But, speaking of groupies, “What happened to Velma Brotherton? I thought she and Ethel were joined at the hip. How does she fit into this?”
“She doesn’t.” Lucille snorted in a highly undignified manner. “When Bony Butt started following around after these newcomers like a slobbering blind sheep, Velma high-tailed it back to California. Everybody had just figured they were like Jerry Don’s ex-wife, but now that Ethel’s run off with a man hippie, it makes you wonder. I’ve read that some people like both, they call it bisexual.” She waved her hand to dismiss the topic. “Whatever the case, she’s sure whoring it up and preaching hellfire all at the same time.”
If even a fraction of my mother’s tale could be believed, the potential that Ethel had been sucked into some weird cult was very real. “Messiahs, brainwashing and Grandma Gone Wild. Please tell me religion is not involved here.”
Lucille puffed out her chest. “Not real religion. Not like the Methodists, of course, or the Baptists for that matter, even
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