Family Sayings and Mispronunciations

Many people think a “Southern Accent” is a southern accent..is a southern accent. This just isn’t true.

It’s just like we Southerners thinking that everyone from New York is from New York city.

A southerner can tell if someone is from North Carolina/South Carolina (coast or mountains), Tennessee, Georgia, Alabama, Louisiana or Mississippi. Florida wasn’t mentioned because of the large population of migrating seniors so it’s more of a melting pot.

Of course each state in the south has it ‘s own colloquialisms; and within each region of each state there are even more localized phrases that flow off the tongue like honey off’n a hot spoon.

Even within my family, there are many phrases and ways that we say things that just aren’t heard anywhere else.    I’d like to share some of those with you. I do realize that most probably aren’t exclusive to my family.

So…., without further adieu (A Doo) I present some of the family sayings and mispronunciations that you will hear at the farm:


Pert Near – pretty close, pretty near, soon <and the like>

It’s comin up a cloud – There’s a lot of dark clouds over there

Dinner is lunch and Supper is ithe last meal of the day served in the evening

Do what now? – said after any type of list or instruction even if they have been understood

Fixin’ tuh – Getting ready to, about to

Mash it – to push or press <mash the button>

Cut it on, Cut on – turn it on, turn on <Cut on the light>

Hissy fit – something someone slings or throws when very angry <When he left her she slung one mo’ hissy fit>

Hussy, Huzzy – a strumpet; girl or woman that has what the speaker would consider to be loose morals; or if they just don’t like her or have much else to talk about

I rekin’ – I guess so; I suppose so

Warr –  wire <I gotta fix that bobwarr fence>

Wharr – where

Lawsy – you say this breathlessly and is most often followed by ‘mercy’ “lawsy mercy”  as a useful generic exclamation when surprised or dumfounded

Ink Pen – as opposed to a <straight or safety> pin

Fiddle-fart – depends on how used: (1) “Quit fiddle-farting around and get out here!” = wasting time (2) “Oh, fiddle fart.” = mild frustration

Stoved Up – constipated  NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH…  Swaged Up – swollen

Hussey – pronounced huh-zie  a loose woman, or anyone acting in a way you consider not to be ladylike


Sherwer – shower

Arse – ass

Ax – ask

Bid’ness – business

Callonopy – colonoscopy

Herikin – hurricane

Idn’t – isn’t

Mu nin ci pal – municipal

Ortopsy – autopsy

Quar – queer timey meaning = odd/different> like “He’s sorta quar; but then, he IS a yankee.”

Pelvik – pelvis

Prolly – probably

nerry a’bit – not even a little bit

I swanee – polite Southerner’s use this instead of I swear!

That lil shit – blaming this one on my mom – who taught her grandchildren that Shit isn’t a cuss word – it’s just what you say when you are mad. So, the grandkids would come running into the house and say, “You know what that little shit  <insert kid’s name here> did!?

I’ve shared some from my family, please share some of yours with me! 

From Grammarly

From Grammarly

Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Big Brothers and ‘Lectric Fences

Big brothers are known for tormenting their younger siblings. On a farm, the availability of items to assist with this are readily available. The first item, and my brother’s particular favorite, was electric fences.

My brother Jerry is almost 7 years older than me and spent his childhood alternating between protecting me and teaching me wonderful things, to tormenting me. Because I was so much younger and innocent, he could get me to believe anything.  This was especially true with Electric Fences.

My grandparent’s were farmers. They raised all their own meat: Pigs, Cows,  Chickens and Fish. They also grew all their own vegetables: Corn, Butter Beans, Field Peas, String Beans, Okra, Tomatoes, Squash, & Watermelon are the ones that come easily to mind but I’m certain there was others. They also had apple trees, fig trees, blueberry bushes, pecan trees and a black walnut tree. Mammy (my grandmother) would send a grandchild out to the hen house in the morning to get some eggs, and when needed, to the smokehouse for some ham. M-m-m my mouth waters just thinking about it! We sure did eat well on the farm. Mamma said during the depression they never went hungry because of the farm. They had no money, but had plenty of food and a house full of love.

If you aren’t from the country, or haven’t ever visited ‘country folks’ then you have no idea how the isolation of living on a dirt road with the only house in sight belonging to your relatives. And with only 3 stations on TV, a 5 party telephone line**, no A/C, I-Pads, Internet, Cell phones and the like, you had to find ways to keep yourself entertained and out of the adult’s way. If they saw you idle, you’d be put to work doing something. So we got up and out of the house as early as possible and would stay gone till dinner time (that was at noon~supper was at night).

My grandaddy had electric fences around the cow pasture.  The switch for this fence was located in the ‘barn behind the house’ not the barn mentioned in Bloomers By the Barn.

On the other side of the cow pasture was woods, then a creek. In the summer, this was one of the coolest spots on the farm, and had the added bonus of being out of sight of the adults so we could get down there and not have to do chores until we wandered back home for dinner.

In my mother’s day, they’d dam up the creek to make a swimming hole.  But we just splashed around in it and caught frogs and minnows.

Whenever Jerry was going I wanted to tag along after him. He would say okay, but you gotta hold up the fence for me to get through. I was little enough to fit under the bottom wire, but Jerry needed the top wire held up, while he stepped over the bottom wire. I always agreed.

Out we’d go headed to the creek, me happily walking, running and skipping beside my big brother. We’d get to the fence, and I’d say, “Jerry, did you remember to turn off the fence?”

“Of course I did,” he’d promise.

If you are unfamiliar with what grabbing an electric fence can do to you, take a look at this video I found on YouTube:  How to Spot a City Boy in the Country

Notice that it doesn’t throw you to the ground, but grabs you right back and holds on. You saw what it did to that ‘city boy’, now imagine a skinny little 8 year old girl grabbing it.  Now visualize me hollering and Jerry laughing as he ran across the yard to turn the switch off.

Out of the house would come Mammy, Dinah, or Mamma~depending on who was around. They’d hollar at Jerry, and then me to “come here and get in this house!” Because if you aren’t too busy to stay out of mischief you’d be put to work.

Just like Charlie Brown and Lucy, I fell for this time and time again. Why? I’ve asked myself that. I can only say that boredom and the promise of hanging out with Jerry must have been too much to resist.

** In the 1960s when this story took place when people got a phone they shared a line with others. Each person had a certain ‘ring style’ that let them know it was a call for their house. One of the ‘fun things’ to do on the farm (of course our parents frowned on this and we got in trouble when they caught us) was to listen in on other people’s conversations. You had to have good timing though and pick up the receiver a millisecond after the ringing stopped or you would be detected.

Categories: Uncategorized | 2 Comments

Bloomers by the Barn

Annie Ruth is a family friend that is considered ‘family’. As a matter of fact, I was a teenager before I found out that she wasn’t actually kin. She and her husband, Ed double dated with Mamma and Daddy (Doris and Charles).

Annie Ruth lived in the double wide down the road from The Farm; and was an excitable sort that talked non-stop and had a heart of gold.  You just never knew when Annie Ruth was going to pop into Mamma’s.  We could be busy as bees cleaning the house, or just sitting around the kitchen table talking and suddenly the front door would open and in would come Annie Ruth in mid sentence,

” . . and then  we’d be be able to have them for winter. . ”

“What?” Mamma would ask.

“Huh?” Annie Ruth would reply.

“You were saying we could have them for winter.” Mamma would then say.

“Have what for winter?” Annie Ruth would ask, while I would be across the room absolutely cracking up!

Both would stop talking and look at me like I was nuts! I swear it was like watching Abbot and Costello!

Well, one warm Saturday morning in spring, I had gone to mamma’s to visit and help her do the weekly cleaning. All of a sudden in rushed Annie Ruth saying, “Lawd a mercy! Out in plain sight behind the barn. Why I never…”

WHAT?! Mom and I stopped in our tracks and looked at Annie Ruth.

“What was in plain sight behind the barn?” mom and I asked in unison.

“Big White Bloomers.” Annie Ruth answered, talking over her shoulder as she rummaged in the refrigerator,”Doris, do you have any tea?”

That was another trait of Annie Ruth’s. She’d drop a verbal bomb and then be onto another thought entirely before anyone could react.

“Did you bring them back with you?” Mamma asked.

“Bring what back?” Annie Ruth questioned.

Mamma sighed, “The Big White Bloomers!”

“He-e-ck no! There’s no telling what them bloomers have been butted up against!” Annie Ruth exclaimed, hesitated, then chuckled. “Bloomers….butt… hee hee .”

Just then with the perfect timing he’s known for, my cousin Ray walks in. Ray is my cousin and a farmer. He rents the land behind Mamma’s house, the land where he learned how to farm from our Granddaddy, on land from our granddaddy’s great uncle.

“Morning ladies . . .  Patti.” Ray says with an impish grin.

Ray is the oldest of my Johnson cousins. Mamma, Dinah and Evelyn are his aunts. Ray lives down the road from mamma and farms the land, so he’s in and out of there all the time. Mamma and Ray can be a bad combination though, he’s got the same mischievous streak as my mamma! You might remember Ray from Pig Pickin’s and  Drive By’s posted inw October 2011.

“Ray, do you know anything about some bloomers left behind the barn?” Mamma asked.

“Bloomers?!?! Which barn? The one out past the Pecan trees?” Ray asked.

“Yes. Do you know who they might belong to, Ray?” asked Annie Ruth.

“Nope, don’t thin…wait a minute! There was a strange pick up truck on the road right around dark last night.”

“What color was it? Was it a Chevy or a Ford? Old or…”

“Whoa Annie Ruth!” Ray interrupted. “It was a Chevy, faded red, about 20 years old or so. Let me know if you see it, I’ll do the same for you.”

The next Saturday morning, Annie Ruth was out in the field arrowhead hunting, as she did every sunny Saturday. As she neared the barn she couldn’t resist walking over to where she had seen the bloomers. “What in the world is that?” she wondered as she bent down to get a closer look. “Oh my Lawd! Oh my! Oh my!” Off she scooted as fast as she could, towards Mamma’s house.

“Doris!” Annie Ruth shouted as she burst through Mamma’s front door. “Call Ray! There are  condoms by the barn now! Condoms!!”

Ray was called, the offending item properly disposed of, and that Sunday, around the dinner table, a full out discussion ensued.

“Reckon who it could’ve been?” “Do you think it’s someone that lives on this road?” “I bet they belong to that trollop who lives down that long path at t’other end of the road.”

Annie Ruth suggested a stakeout next Friday night. “We could hide in the barn and wait. When they start we could jump out and run ’em off!”

Mamma, Aunt Dinah, Aunt Evelyn and Annie Ruth started making plans.

So the next Friday night they put into action their plan for  “The Great Bloomers Stakeout.” Those four women buzzed around all afternoon gathering supplies. Old quilts for pallets, camp chairs, tiny individual flash lights covered in orange cellophane so as not to risk being seen from outside the barn. They even thought to carry a couple of big pots and metal spoons to scare off the offenders.

They spent the day making food so they wouldn’t get hungry. Aunt Dinah made the deviled eggs, mamma the ham-salad. Evelyn brought paper goods, chips and other snacks.  Annie Ruth brought the iced tea*  and Yahtzee, but that got vetoed because it was ‘too noisy’. They decided on mom’s Scrabble board instead.

“Don’t forget the dictionary.” Mom reminded Annie Ruth.  “Oh! I can bring my binoculars!”

“Do we need a note pad?” Dinah asked.

Mamma replied, “Dinah. We aren’t on a spy mission.”

“No Doris, to keep score on.” Dinah said with an irritated tone in her voice. Mamma and Dinah were very close and could argue and love as deeply as only two sisters can.

Let’s do a check: Scrabble, Food & Drinks, Paper goods, Flashlights (4), Pallets & Pillows, Camp chairs, & the pots and spoons for banging. Okay,everything is ready. All that’s left is to wait until dark to sneak out to the barn.

As soon as the last light of day faded  “Operation Big Bloomers” was underway.

<cue Mission Impossible theme>

Loaded down with supplies and ready for a night’s worth of spying Mamma, Aunt Dinah, Annie Ruth and Aunt Evelyn made their way to the barn.

In stealth-like fashion, through the grove of Pecan trees, they darted like cartoon characters do… moving quickly from tree to tree on their tiptoes. Each time they stopped behind a tree, smothered giggling could be heard along with repeated, “Sh-h-s.”

Since Dinah had already swept out the barn earlier that day all they had to do was set up their post.

Evelyn and Annie Ruth spread the pallets out and set up the chair while mamma and Dinah covered a work table with a table cloth and enough food to feed an entire spy agency.

At first, they spoke in hushed whispers while sitting on the pallets. That is, everyone except Doris, who always sits in a chair because of her ‘affliction’ (i.e. polio).  “Annie Ruth, did you remember to bring an extra tank of Oxygen in case we have to stay out here for a while?”

“Sure do. Fully loaded.” Anni Ruth replied giggling.

Dinah and Evelyn exchanged looks that said, “Oh no.”

Annie Ruth was a talker. There were times that her COPD caused her to have to take steroids. The steroids enhanced her urge to talk. This was one of times. It could be a mighty long night.

After about 3 hours of talking, eating and playing Scrabble the laughter subsided for a few minutes. All was quiet and peaceful. . . for about 10 minutes.

Headlights shone through the spaces in the barn’s wooden wall. Four 60+ year old women scattered like they were only 12!

Shh. Do you see anything? Are they stopping? Who is it??  Is it the pickup?

Just as it got close enough to tell that it was a pickup, it sped up and cut back towards the road in a blur.

Could anyone see who was driving?

No? Well durn!

Annie Ruth muttered, “Well, I guess we’ll never find out.”

Off down the road, driving a dirty pick up truck with a bag from Wal*Mart that contained an empty pack of ladies panties (size extra large) and an empty two condom pack. Laughing out loud, Ray thought to himself, “Now that’s what I call fun on the farm!”

See. I told you my mamma was the absolute master at pulling a prank. And she was real good at getting help to pull one off when she needed it, after all~ isn’t an aunts job to teach her nieces and nephews all the fun stuff ?

Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Is He Kin?

In the south, whenever you meet someone new, you may as well accept it and be ready to answer. You are going to be asked, “Now who’s yor momma? Yor Granny. . . mmm-hmmm.”

Then, give it about 5 minutes of, “Do you know..? How ‘bout?” and you’ll be certain to find someone who at least knows of your kin. Most likely though, you’ll discover that your Uncle Ted is your ex-aunt Lilly’s mother’s first cousin.”

If you aren’t from the south, go on ahead and sit down till your head stops spinnin’. We can wait.

Down here, knowing ones kin is ‘a given’.  Now I’m not just talking about knowing who your momma, daddy, siblings, aunts/uncles/cousins, grandparents are. Nope. I’m talking about knowing that your daddy’s momma’s daddy was a bastard. He was half Cherokee. His momma was a Cherokee wash-woman. Nobody seems to know any more’n that about it.  And just to clarify, that wash-woman would be my great-great grandmother.

Every family has a “hushed” story like that. I was lucky enough to be born into a family that is overflowing with stories like that – on both sides: the Johnson’s and the Parrish’s!

We all knew that the Parrish’s had an Indian bastard.

It was also rumored that the Johnson’s had a black one; but my generation didn’t know about that one.

Now before you go getting upset with me, remember, this took place in the 1930s and that’s how everyone referred to race, so don’t shoot the  storyteller-I’m just trying to set the tone and flavor of the times.

There was a name the kids in my momma’s generation heard only in hushed tones . . . Ruffin.

Whenever one of them asked about this mysterious person they were hushed and sent outdoors. This was especially painful in a summer thunderstorm or a cold winter’s rain, so they soon learned to stop asking. The mysterious Ruffin remained a mystery to my aunts and uncles.

One day as I was helping Momma around the house, she said to me, “Mr. Ruffin Johnson died. Did you hear that?”

Momma was reading the obituaries while I was scrubbing the cabinets with Murphy’s Oil Soap.

“Mr. Johnson? You mean from down the road?” I asked without turning around.

“Naw… black Mr. Johnson from Four Oaks; the one that helps out with the garden a little. The one that’s kin.” Mom said absentmindedly.

“WHAT?!” I sputtered. “What’s that you said? Ruffin Johnson, a BLACK man, is our KIN?!”

Are you sure you mean this side of the family?  That’s what I really was wondering.

Momma was sitting there looking a little stunned at herself. “Never you mind.” She said, putting the paper away, indicating that this conversation was over.

I grew up thinking that the Johnson side of my family was a little more high class than the Parrish’s because I grew up knowing about my Great great grandmother having an illegitimate child. There were no stories told about the Johnson’s.

Anyway…let’s just leave it with saying that it would be less of a surprise for a (city raised) Parrish to get together with someone of a different race than it would for a (farm raised) Johnson to.

I finished my cleaning and went home, curious as a cat about my ‘Great-Uncle Ruffin”, but not daring to push the subject.

As soon as I left, Momma got on the phone with Aunt Dinah.

“Dinah! Ruffin Johnson died!” she said.

“How do you know?” Aunt Dinah asked.

“It was in the paper,” said Momma. “Sanders Funeral Home is doing the funeral, his visitation is tomorrow. Want to go?”

“Doris! We can’t go to that!” Dinah said surprised. “We’re the wrong color to go there, we’d stand out like sore thumbs.”

“Come on, don’t you want to finally see for ourselves if he’s kin? We can go about an hour and half before the visitation starts. No one will see us. Come on Dinah, it’s our only chance to know once and for all.” Momma cajoled.

So the next morning Dinah came over to the farm and after a bit of back and forth discussion, off they went to finally set the story straight.

When they went into the funeral home, in the parlor just ahead was an open casket and not a soul in sight. PERFECT TIMING! They scooted across the hall and went in. Momma stopped at the guest register.

“DORIS!” Dinah exclaimed. “Get away from that! You are not  going to sign that register. Now hurry and get over here and come with me to  look.”

So Momma and Dinah crept quietly over to the casket and peeped inside.

“Hmmm – he does have the Johnson nose and looks a whole lot like Uncle Harvey, so it must be true.” Dinah concluded as Momma picked up a funeral bulletin to carry home.

The next Sunday, the family mystery was finally laid to rest along with Ruffin.

Dinah and Doris told us all about their adventure and discovery that indeed Ruffin Johnson was Uncle Harvey’s illegitimate son.

RIP Great Uncle Ruffin. If you had born a little bit later in time, I might have gotten a chance to know you.

Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Pig Pickin’s and Drive-Bys

Ever stand by a pig cooker and picked the meat straight off a freshly roasted, oh so succulent pig? No?

Then STOP right now and add it to your bucket list.


For those who have, I know you’re drooling!

There’s nothing like a crisp fall day and a Carolina blue sky. That’s what made October  perfect for the annual Pig-Picking at the Farm. Some years we’d have over a hundred people. That always just delighted my mamma, Doris. She did love to have the family gathered.

The women would cook the side dishes, but the pig was always done by the men; including the secret blend of vinegar and red peppers. The side dishes were homemade wonders! Aunt Dinah always made the potato salad, Jell-O salad, and baked beans. If Brunswick stew was served, it was store-bought. Don’t know why, it’s just how it was done.

Doris always made the deserts: Yellow cake with chocolate icing that had melted into the cake, but yet somehow some of it remained fluffy and on top of the cake! We also had brownies and a variety of pies.  Doris’ other responsibility was the fried cornbread. She fried it up crisp and golden brown. We’d have pickled relish, bread n butter pickles, chow chow, and an assortment of goodies that varied depending on who was attending.

The homemade ice-cream was a family affair with someone different in charge each year.

You get the idea… on to the story.

Me, my sister, Sylvie and my brother, Jerry were talking on the front porch. The  party was in full swing. People were everywhere!  Kids, dogs, cousins, aunts, uncles, and long time family friends.

Freakin’ family fun for sure!

Suddenly, Sylvie, in the middle of a sentence simply reaches over and pours her glass of water on our older brother Jerry. Jerry jumps back wet and shocked and I am just cracking up!

“Wha…What the?” “What are you doing?!”  Jerry shouted.

Sylvia, un-phased said, “I don’t know, I just felt like dumping water on you.”

I like to take a moment and point out that Jerry, Sylvia, Pam and I are all adults with children at this time of our lives.

 Jerry walked off the porch shaking his head, leaving Sylvie and me laughing.

It wasn’t long before Jerry got his revenge.

Sylvie was chatting with some of our nieces and nephews, when suddenly, she was soaking wet! Not just one part of her, but her front, back, and everywhere! I even got splattered in the hit.

As Sylvie gasped, I caught sight of the Hit Squad. It was two of our nephews and a cousin running, laughing, and gasping for breath; empty  buckets banging their legs! Hmm, that just wasn’t like these three~they usually were followers. Somebody had to be behind the hit, but whom?

JERRY! It had to be. Sylvie and I locked eyes. Game on, big brother! The Sistie Uglies are seeking revenge!

We were trying everything to soak Jerry, we just couldn’t get close. His “hit squad/body guards” were close by his side.

“Hmmm…I wonder what he used to bribe the little buggers with and how can I out bribe him?”

Suddenly, it came to me! I know how to get Jerry, and neither he, nor his little minions will see it coming! I couldn’t wait to put this plan in action.

Time to get help from. . . “The Grandmother.”

The Grandmother is my mother, the current matriarch of the family. A lady indeed and beloved by all. She’s a NASCAR lovin’, casino gamblin’, scrabble playin’ grandmother with a wicked sense of humor equal only to her adventurous spirit.

About an hour had gone by since the last “hit’. Jerry was standing on the deck enjoying a rare opportunity to have a one on one conversation with Mom.

“When are the Giggle Girls going to Cherokee?” Jerry was asking, when suddenly and without any warning or provocation, Mom just up and poured her big glass of water right down the front of his shirt.

Sputtering with surprise, Jerry exclaimed, “Wha . . .what the? Mom!?”

Mom just laughed at him and said, “Don’t get mad at me, I’m just the hired assassin.”

Hee hee!

Jerry didn’t realize that mom can be bought for one lil promise to clean up the kitchen. Victory is so sweet, but I knew it was temporary. Jerry wasn’t going to let this go, so I was on ‘high alert’.

I asked my sister Pam if she had heard any rumblings of a hit being planned. I asked Sylvie. Nope.

Hm-m-m, wonder when? The anticipation was killing me.

Pig’s ready! Ya’ll come and eat.

Lines formed, plates were piled high with potato salad & deviled eggs, Aunt Dinah’s pork-n-beans, Jell-O salad, fried corn bread, homemade pickles & relish, and the main course~The BBQ.

In North Carolina, BBQ is a noun, not a verb. We cook and eat BBQ. When referring to cooking on a grill, we say we are “cooking out”.

I’m standing in line minding my own business looking at all the friends and relatives ahead of me in line when a few of my darling little nieces and nephews come up to me and sweetly offer to get my plate for me. I could just go have a seat and one would bring me something to drink, while the others stood in line.  Filled with a warm fuzzy feeling of love towards these wonderful children, I found a seat at the table where my mom and Jerry were sitting.

“Aren’t you eating anything?” my mother asked, since I didn’t have a plate of food.

“I am. The kids offered to get it for me. Aren’t they sweet?”

“Hmpf! Wonder what they are up to.” Mom said.

“Oh mom, don’t be so suspicious. Look, here comes Scotty now.”

Scotty approached with a big glass of Southern sweet tea. I reached out my hand to take it from him. Suddenly, I was drenched!

Jumping up I was screeching, “Scotty!”

Those kids were howling as they scattered.

I heard the laughter coming from my brother. “GOT CHA! Gotcha gotcha, GOTCHA!” he was shouting with glee. Everyone at the table was laughing.

My mom, between giggles was saying, “Okay kids,” <mind you we are in our 40s & 50s> “That’s enough. Ya’ll stop before somebody gets hurt.”

We had certainly heard that one before! “Yes ma’m we said in unison,” me with my fingers crossed behind my back.

I got back in line to get my BBQ. “If those kids made me miss the deviled eggs, they are going to pay big time,” I thought as I began to plan my revenge.

Once finished <and without having any deviled eggs>, I went dutifully into the kitchen to start fulfilling my contract with the Grandmother. My sister’s were there along with my female cousins who had finished eating. In the south, the women get up from eating and automatically start cleaning up. The men leave their plates and retreat into “Daddy’s Den” to watch TV, usually sports. The kitchen was crowded, so I went out to the front yard to check on the kids, and pick up any empty plates.

The kids all had Super Soakers. There was a big battle going on in the front yard. Ya’ll remember those~ machine like guns that hold and shoots a bunch of water in a powerful stream?

“You kids put those guns away until after everyone is finished with dinner.” I said to them. “Here. Hand ‘em to me. I’ll give them back when we start making the ice cream.”

As I was making the ‘arms agreement’ with my nieces and nephews, my cousin Ray came riding up on his 4-wheeler. He had run to his house just down the road to get some more ice.

Ray.  Super Soakers.  4 Wheeler. A light bulb went off!

About 10 minutes later, the unsuspecting target heard the roar of an engine, and in a blur of speed, Jerry became SUPER SOAKING wet!

I was perched in front of Ray on that 4-wheeler, my feet propped on the handlebars, kept on board only by the strong arms of my cousin as he maneuvered that 4 wheeler through the crowd. I was shooting that confiscated, fully loaded, SuperSoaker with a killer’s attitude so my dear brother didn’t stand a chance.

As we roared by, guns a’blazin the crowd reacted by first sporting open mouths on their surprised faces, then once the “kill was made”, by roaring with laughter as Ray and I drove off into the sunset.

Ahhh yes! Another day of Freakin’ Family Fun on the Farm indeed!

Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Doris, Dinah and the Dancing Dild. . . e-r-r “device”…

The women were sitting in the kitchen at the table while the men were in the living room watching “the ballgame”.

GOOD! Now we were free to run our mouths without worrying that the men might be listening to what we were talking about.

These conversations were always  the most fun.

This particular Sunday we were talking about my Aunt Dinah’s job in the shirt factory. Dinah was in her 60s at this time and worked with young girls in their 20s who, apparently, had taken it upon themselves to enlighten an ‘old country girl’ on the ways of the modern world. As Dinah told us of the things she had learned the past week, she suddenly said to my two cousins and me, “Girls, I’ve got a question for you.”

“Okay, Aunt Dinah, what is it?” we replied, never expecting what came next.

“I want to know what in the world is a DILLLL DOH?”  she said with her very southern drawl.

With bemused expressions, Brenda and I immediately looked at our cousin, Vicky because Vicky is her daughter. Everyone at the table was looking at Vicky, waiting to hear how she was going to delicately answer this question.

“Well,” Vicky began. “It’s something that is used for… uh…well,” she stammered, ” when a woman is single or if they don’t want a man then they could use this.” she stammered.  Once she finally got a description out, we all looked at Aunt Dinah to see her reaction.

“Well, I’ll be!”  said Aunt Dinah, shaking her head in amazement as we all breathed a collective sigh of relief, then everyone started laughing!

That was only the beginning of this story… 

My mom, Doris and her sister Dinah are the masters of practical jokes. Vicky (Dinah’s daughter), Brenda (her mom was Betty, the oldest of the sisters), and me (Patti) decided that we would FINALLY get them back for all the years of torture from the practical jokes they have played on us. Oh yeah.. we cooked up a good one! Vicky was going to go buy a dildo and I was elected to place it where they would be certain to find it. Brenda was going to keep them busy while I hid it where it was sure to be found.

To be certain they didn’t make the connection, we waited about 3 months before carrying out this plan. Vicky got “the object” and I placed it in a brown paper bag under the passenger seat of my mom’s van. Aunt Dinah and momma ALWAYS went to the post office in town on Saturday morning, which just so happens to be the busiest day at the Post Office. The parking lot is always full! Mom goes in and Dinah sits in the car and waits. While waiting she always plunders to see what new things Doris has placed in the car. Oh yes! That was a great plan! They’d find it right there in the Post Office parking lot.

On Sunday, Vicky, Brenda and I were at the farm as usual and were just about to bust!

“Did they find it yet?” we whispered to each other. “I don’t know!”  “How can we sneak out to see?”

Mom asked me to go to the garage and get a couple of bags of peas for dinner. PERFECT! The car was in the garage. I could sneak a peak and they’d never know it.

When I went out to the garage, the durn van was LOCKED! Momma never locks the van.  How will we ever get the keys?

That Sunday was a bust for “Operation Dildo”. We just could not locate the keys and check in the car without causing suspicion.

Once dinner was over and the kitchen had been cleaned, the men went to the back den to watch a ballgame and we were free to talk openly. Dinah had heard a joke at work this week and wanted to share it:

There was this old lady whose husband had died. Because they had an active and passionate sex life up until the day he died, the ‘widder woman’ asked the undertaker if he could save her husband’s penis for her in a jar. The undertaker, unfazed,  agreed. After the funeral the undertaker gave the “widder” the jar containing her husband’s penis. She went home, sat at the kitchen table and stroked the jar.  The undertaker had been thoughtful enough to preserve it in its …errr… largest state by placing a spring in it.  Before long she just couldn’t resist. She opened the jar.

When she got the jar lid off, OUT popped the penis and it started bouncing around the kitchen floor. Well that “widder woman” jumped out of her chair and started chasing it around the kitchen with her skirt hiked up dancing around and shouting, “Here it is honey.. here it is!”

We all cracked up. First of all, this just wasn’t like Aunt Dinah,  she actually used the word ‘penis’ instead of tallywacker!

Next Sunday.. same thing. Locked car. Couldn’t get the key.

About a month went by before we could safely check the car.  IT WAS GONE!!!!

Okay, we knew they had found it, but why didn’t they say anything? Did they know what it was? The one Vicky bought was BRIGHT pink and did vibrate, but it did have the ..er.. ‘correct shape’, so they must know. We were just about to die from our curiosity!

After dinner, Dinah left the kitchen while ‘we girls’ did the dishes. When she returned she had a brown paper bag with her. Vicky, me, and Brenda all had our backs to her, the others were sitting at the kitchen table, watching. We hear this ..whirr..whirr.. sound and as the three of us turn around to see what it was, there was Aunt Dinah hiking up her skirt and dancing around this bright pink, vibrating dildo  hollering, “Here it is here it is!”

Dinah had found that brown paper bag. The very next Saturday after we hid it!

There we stood with our mouths hanging wide open in disbelief as our aunts and roared with laughter!

We learned from this to never,  NEVER underestimate these old ladies! They outsmarted us once again. They planned out their revenge very carefully, they patiently waited months and even made up that joke to get us back for embarrassing them in the Post Office parking lot. Dinah had found the bag and pulled out this bright pink dildo right there in the parking lot for everybody in town to see, so we must be taught a lesson! 

My mom, Doris looked at the three of us and said, “Girls, let this be a lesson to you. Old ladies are hard to fool and have a lot more patience than you youg’uns!”

“Yes ma’m.” we replied in unison.

<sigh> Oh well, at least we got to embarrass ’em a little bit.

Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 15 Comments

Blog at WordPress.com.

%d bloggers like this: