“Having a rock foundation, can be as detrimental as quick sand. It’s being able to recognize the hurt as a call to lace up with the proper armor. Then we are no longer bound. Unless of course our stubborness and assumption that someone will come bail us out, seems like a better option”.   My children are a such a ministry to me. #tenderfeet #sweetheart

Advertisements

The Power Of PERSUASIAN In A Smile and An Outstretched Arm

THE POWER OF PERSUASIAN IN A SMILE AND AN OUTSTRETCHED ARM
 Remi Beau has a special way of bringing coy to a whole new level.
 It starts with her right arm stretch out, a smile that will melt the hardest heart, then she tucks her little head into the outstretched shoulder, completing her persuasiveness with a three quarter turn. 
I was in the kitchen when I heard “MyMama!” 
Yes Remi Beau I responded. 
She instantly through that arm out, Melted my heart, then proceeded with her 3/4 turn. 
I noticed an empty box in her left hand has she toddled off. It was as big as she was doddling back and fourth down the hall. 
A few seconds later I heard MyMama again. Repeating the same steps, she proceeded back down the hall. This occurred three or four more times.

It was when I didn’t hear “MyMama”  that I became alarmed. 
So down the hall and into her room I went. There she was standing on a now dented empty box, working diligently to open the top dresser drawer. Knowing if she could just get a hand on it, she could pull her way to the top. 
Her best attempt at scaling the dresser drawers, had failed.  So instantly trying to escape reprimand! She stuck that hand out, melted my heart with that smile, tucked her head into her shoulder, and forgetting her foundation began her three quarter turn. 
I may have dishwater overflowing in the kitchen floor, a DirecTV box on one side of the room and a one year old whose feelings are hurt much worse than the brunt of the fall on the other, but I can promise you one thing, I have received more smiles today than any one of you!!

Touchdown Forgiveness

inCollage_20170723_043332300


Touchdown Forgiveness

While scrolling through social media over the passed 48 hours. I have found more forgiveness offered to Coach Hugh Freeze than revolutions of kilowatt hours on my electric meter.

Honestly the news made me sick to the core. I hated it for him, his family, and Ole Miss.

Oh and if allegations are true, I hate it for the woman or women. God knows they probably didn’t dream of growing up to be on some escort services payroll. I wonder what her story is and if he will apologize to her? Not saying he should or shouldn’t. Some things you just wonder.

I personally have less than a hand full of people I follow diligently on Twitter, and Hugh Freeze is one of them. I certainly don’t intend to stop following him because of his surfacing sin.

Do I think he was held to a higher standard. Well the answer is yes. The Bible speaks clearly about His teachers. I for one would consider his position a great teaching arena. Not to mention the mission field he himself claimed to be on. Matthew 18:6 is going to be a tough one for all of us! I can’t help but think as a Christian, Hugh Freeze too, has had this verse heavy on his heart.
“But whoso shall offend one of these little ones and cause another to stumble which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea”.

Hugh Freeze said it best in an interview a few years ago,
“Nothing reveals a man’s mettle more than adversity”. How he deals with this, as far as seeking forgiveness and using this in his testimony could very well make him the greatest or among the weakest coaches in the history of the SEC.

Could I have kept the level of his integrity while playing with all the bells and whistles the SEC offers…. Hammer No! However he himself made his own platform that of a Christian man. That is one tough place to stand and stand firm. Even for that of the great Christian man, I believe Coach Hugh Freeze still is.

So Coach Freeze if this has done nothing more than show the dedicated Ole Miss/SEC fans how easy it is to stand behind and forgive a fellow brother or sister in Christ. I would like to say thank you! For all of us who have sat on a church pew and faced endless judgemental gazes after allowing immortality in our lives……we appreciate you being an example of how good people can do bad things, without being a bad person.

I hope Coach Freeze does well in life. I feel he will if he practices what he has said behind the podium at many of our local churches. As for the program at Ole Miss, I feel as they too will be just fine! They are too big of a thorn in LSU’s side to take too much of a fall.

For those who have jumped to Twitter for the Hugh Freeze  hypocrite band wagon, in regard to his Bible quoting tweets. By all means elaborate on how exactly you consider it hypocrisy, that in which was the very word Mr Freeze claimed to be relying on then. He has documented via Twitter if need be, to make it through a time such as this! 

The Clarion-Ledger

Newspaper had the nerve to report these Freeze quotes as hypocrisy:

 

@CoachHughFreeze

“Love never gives up, never loses faith,is always hopeful, & endures through every circumstance.”1 Cor 13:7. Pick someone 2 Love well 2day

@CoachHughFreeze

Freeze

Dear God, I worship You today for the forgiveness of my sins, a love like no other, grace and acceptance, and the blessing of life!!

Tell me exactly how one might coin these tweets as hypocrisy? In one quote he thanked God for the forgiveness of sin. Freeze found himself in a sinful situation true or false? Freeze knew where to turn for the reassurance that love endures all circumstances. True or False?

In fact, these are the very words Freeze could reference at any time if he needed a reminder of what he stood for all along. True or false?  The same word that says “For all have sinned”.

To have Freeze unveiled as a hypocrite, I personally believe one would have to show a more sinfully savvy Freeze. As in the calculated foresight to use a track phone!

Take away:

#1 Treat the lady who sits  piano side, 4 rows from the back, that was just caught with her boss in a precarious situation. With the same zest and zeal to forgive, as the gentleman who finally took our team to the Sugar Bowl!

#2 Know what a hypocrite is before you write an article in the States largest circulating news paper!

In The South When Jonquils Grow, Motives Multiply!

IMG_3450

Title’s seem to carry a lot of weight “Down Here”. Almost as much as where and who you were born into. From the CEO to the janitor, there is a place for everyone. Some people excel at keeping others in their rightful place.

The first day of spring has been nothing short of pleasant in the hills of North Mississippi.

 

The smell of the dandelions takes me back to the spring of 1991. The air had comfortably settled between 70-75 degrees, by the time the reception was in full swing. The humidity never swam above 48%. Instantly calling for a hallelujah hair day. The sunshine was as big and as bright as Mary Gail Livingston’s engagement ring.

I had the honor of dawning a lavender junior bridesmaid dress. Thus, making Mary Gail’s 16th wedding attendant.

From what I gather, our mothers shared a dorm room at Ole Miss their freshman year. It was an incredibly distant relationship theme, but I balanced the platform I suppose.

Mary Gail and I actually met at one of her many wedding showers. The Methodist Church Ladies happened to be putting this one on. Her grandmother had always gone to that church, and she desperately needed a linen shower. That’s what Mary Gail’s mother kept repeating-I do remember that-with the most obnoxious voice that kept echoing through the fellowship hall.

Mary Gail’s mother insisted I attend at least one shower. With that, she agreed to take me home when it was over, due to my own mother’s obligations.

It was dark thirty. I remember watching the last car pull out of the church parking lot at least an hour prior to making the decision to start walking. However, I did not exactly feel stranded on our little Church Street. I was a hometown girl, and it was a quiet town. (Most quaint little southern towns are quiet until all the ladies get together.)

I spotted a few seventh grade boys playing basketball down the street. I joined right in. My dress and dress shoes were not afraid of a little asphalt. My hind end was only thing afraid. Daddy found out I played basketball in the dark with the group of boys in a dress! I blame Mary Gail’s mother to this day for that whippin’.
Back to that ring! Mary Gail Livingston new all along she would never let that massive thing slip off her hand. The size, the clarity, and the setting all remain etched in my ever so impressionable preteen mind.

As did Mr Livingston’s secretary!

“She’s an implant,” Momma said. Mother gathered as much due to her lack of etiquette.
Daddy said it was because it looked like the circus did her make up. He also said that her red lipstick never was able to hide those big boobs.

I personally think it was because if she didn’t like you, she didn’t try to act like she did. She always played with her face cards up. It would take an implant to pull that off in this town.

The flamboyant paralegal from Pennsylvania had no idea the initiation in etiquette she was about to receive-brought to her sincerely by a little ‘ol spring wedding, only the pride of Pearl Petal Mississippi could teach her.

You see, Mary Gail’s wedding was the day before Easter. (Every Southern reader knows the etiquette dress code sabotage that is bout to take place).

The wedding date was planned around the lavender bridesmaids dresses, the Spencers’ yellow antebellum home, and the full bloom of their jonquil garden. It made for an absolutely gorgeous setting, playing host to the reception of the year.

I may have been young, but I recognized the power of silence early in life. I will never forget the hush that fell across that First Baptist Church at 5:58PM on that Saturday, Easter Eve.

She might could click a mean typewriter, but she failed to get the memo about weddings being the bride’s special day. Not to mention the general rule of the bride being the only one to wear white.

It was a yellow brocade and extremely fitted. That is, if you got beyond the eye crossing, instantly inebriated by the checkered pattern across her chest. Well, somewhat across her chest.

Y’all, I could see them from the choir loft. (That was my 16th position on the platform.) One couldn’t help but see it. I mean, they walked in before she did. They must have been size 10s with a good 6″ stiletto heel on them! It was the most outrageous pair of solid white patent, leather shoes I had ever laid eyes on.

Half of the congregation was still seated as Mary Gail made her entrance. I guess they did not hear the bridal procession for being blinded by this mammoth of a jonquil!
No two colors could have made an ivory wedding dress look anymore like Grandmother’s dishwater.  Mary Gail’s mother, being the town’s most of obnoxious debutante, made an audible gasp. Bouncing off the hardwood floors and stained glass windows, it was so loud it made her husband blush-his hearing aides already at a high freaquency roar.

The bride’s humble mother felt it her duty to ever-so-indiscreetly ask the lady if she might feel more comfortable in a pair of her shoes. That is if the 5’10” woman wore a size 6. It was more like a Chihuahua convincing a Great Dane her collar would be a perfect fit. I’m certain the choking factor entered her mind.

On that particular day and to this day, Mary Gail has been the kindest person in town to BUTTERCUP. Encouraging her to get some southern roots and stick around. Praising her work and going on and on about how much Mr. Livingston adored her. She doted over what an asset BUTTERCUP was to their family. Reminding everyone they nick-named her after a perrineal for a reason.

Mary Gail grew up in the shadow of her mother’s social sorority sisterhood. She adopted the mindset-those ladies had the depth of a postage stamp at an early age.

Mary Gail rebelled! Refusing any form of civitan or social duties, despite her mother’s efforts.

Mary Gail once spent the weekend in Starkville with a friend and attended a Mississippi State football game while there. Her mother didn’t show up at her baptism the next Sunday. Exclaiming, “Lord knows it would take Holy Water to wash the smell of that
godforsaken place off of you, Mary Gail!”

To which Mary Gail, for the first time ever, rebottled! “Mama you were a Methodist that daddy (not JESUS) converted to a Baptist! What do you know about Holy Water?! Let me help you out, you’re going to need less rouge and more hemline before you set your pretty little sails off in waters you know nothing about. The only time I have known you to grit your teeth more than the thought of getting your hair wet after baptism and  before a Sunday social, was when daddy wrote the tithe check on Sunday Mornings. Had you truly cared about you family, particularly your marriage maybe you would have spent more times praying to be a good wife instead of chasing a husband who showed his love to everyone in town but you! You had me to keep face in this town, the same reason daddy had you!   ”

Out of respect for her late father, Mary Gail allowed the mother-daughter relationship to exist. Strictly for show, because Daddy didn’t believe in letting others see blemishes on the canvas of personal life.

Though decades have passed, the hurt of an absent mother is as raw as a white onion. To this day, it makes her not only cry but like a baby. Mary Gail reflects on the joy she has when she looks at her own children. The way her heart literally skips a beat when she watches her own children as they sleep. What was so wrong with her that her own mother looked at her in disgust.  Mary Gail vowed before puberty despite her future husbands actions. She would show him love by nurturing and delighting in what he loved most and couldn’t live  without, his children.

Feeble, frail and in and out of the hospital with pneumonia, Mary Gail’s Mother now spends her days. When she is not in the hospital, she goes to the nicest assisted living areas known to these hills. The decision to move her there came on the heels of the resignation of two home health aides and one nurse. Mary Gail didn’t feel obligated to visit with her still in the old home place.

It is a mystery to all, but the only thing she mentions looking forward to was Saturdays at two. Without fail, every Saturday at 2PM, Buttercup’s afternoon visit. Always on time, always the same time, and always with fresh flowers and a painted red smile.

Everyone in town thought Mary Gail was naive. Including myself, until recently I ran into Mary Gail at the bakery. With profoundness she said, “Amanda, whatever you do, remember this. The closest way to a man’s heart is through his right-hand woman.”
I guess that was Mary Gail’s way of keeping another womanizing Livingston boy from messing around. She kept him simply messing.

Mary Gail had the seven karat family heirloom. Meanwhile, her husband’s secretary did all the work. Thirty years and the lipstick on his collar never changed. Bright red, just like my daddy said.

Mary Gail revealed the mystery to a good friend, who in turn told me, because it was too good to keep. “The best medicine for a mother who once thought herself above rearing a child? The mother who did not darken my childhood bed room a hand full of times? Leaving my dear sweet Nanny Velma Kate to all the motherly duties……..Send In A Clown Every Saturday At Two!”

Never walked a mile, yet ran a thousand over my heart.

IMG_2248
Remi Beau Baker’s first day in shoes and oh at the places she tried to go. 

I took this picture laughing, with The Lord’s sense of humor in mind.

These brand new shoes were worn only a few hours by my little girl.  At barely 8 months, she can’t walk yet. I couldn’t help but look at them and think of the miles those little feet would have gone, how very busy she already was, and in turn how busy she kept me.

My intentions at 37 years old, were of graduation parties for my Maddie. Not of marking the milestones of a new baby. I took this pic with such light hearted intentions, all I can do now is cry over this amazing gift that God gave me!

#16yrsbetweenmytwo

Babies, motherhood, single parents, Christian, God

Saturday Morning Beauty Shop Satire Only In The South.

MyMaddRemi blogs are generally geared for the conservative Southern reader. I’ve never had success making a liberal Yankee blush. Picture



Picture

 

 

 

 

 

Mrs Mots has been old and nosy as long as I can remember. That is not just my opinion, ask any local patron at the salon. We all hold our breath, in hopes she doesn’t “corner us up”. 

She is the CFO, CEO and HBIC of our local professional women’s gossip organization. These ladies are well studied in the school of business. Particularly, the business of others. Spending so much of their time researching like a passionate journalist, the lives of anyone who may be walking a less than perfect physical, mental, emotional, financial, or spiritual path at the moment. 

Mrs. Mots is that lady who will not shut up without hearing the unnecessary details of a complete strangerunspoken prayer request.

Seriously, what matter is it of hers: the occupation of the subjects maternal grandfather, in the 1950s. It never fails she always takes the prize, compliments of Beltone. Call today for a free trial.

The Mrs Mots of the world do their homework. Running over anything in their path to meet with the other ladies (who unfortunately are in her civic group), and share the latest findings of others misfortune. The majority of these women are truly focused on volunteering regularly in the community, voting for yard of the month and having coffee with fresh pound cake for brunch twice a week with dear friends. I would be willing to bet the sweet ladies of our local auxiliary wish they could recant ever voting Mrs. Mots in the club. 

The following is the latest beauty shop misfortune involving a poor soul who had no idea who Mrs. Mots was or what she was capable of! 

It as a typical Saturday morning at the salon when the new girl in town drew the short straw, that of being seated next to Mrs. Mots at the shampoo bowl. Motsoverheard (common occurance for Mrs MouthOfTheSouth)the lady ask where the restroom was, and also briefly telling her stylist of the 27 phone calls and texts she purposely declined over the past two hours from her soon to be ex husband. The young lady was obviously shaken from missing the call that came through from her 12 year old son whom she had left home alone for that morning. After all, she was assured that Magnolia Way was one of the safest streets in town). The poor thing couldn’t break away fast enough to call him back. She hung on to every word as her son’s squeaky voice inquired about changing his lunch request. 

“Instead of a BigMac with a small fry can I have a BigMac, large fry, and a Coke? Followed by the sweetest,how much longer are you going to be? Momma, I walked way down the street but then I thought of how I did not want that big dog to spot me. I’m back inside, on your bed, with all the doors locked. Safe and sound. 


Oh, and mama, do you care if I ask that pretty girl down the street to come over when you get home? She is really sweet I promise you will like her. Please mama!”

Since wearing hearing aids during the shampoo/shimmer lights process isn’t advised, along beside 14 blaring hair dryers, and the memory of a mouse, the stressors involved in Mrs. Motsrendition of the whole story, were obviously three or four more than she needed. She knew her group of ladies would be in disbelief. Mrs. Motsstarted her latest tale with the discretion of the young ladys dismal appearance that Mrs. Mots so graciously emphasized. (Down here,walking out of your bedroom for that 1st cup of coffee, is done with the same eagerness, zest, attire, hairstyle and make up as heading out the door for a fine dining experience. Mama says you never know who you might meet, see, or more importantly need….once you walk out of the comfort of your home).

It took all of three days, 72 hours, for this story to emerge. Thanks to what we refer to as, the Mouth Of The South (Mrs.Mots)…It went something like this.

“Y’all know that new lady in town. I believe she’s the third teller at the branch bank on main street. That tinythang came in the beauty shopSaturday mornin‘ (obviously a good 4-5 weeks late on her color), in those real tight stretchy workout pants, with not a stitch of lipstick on, and yall ain’tgonnabelieve what I heard come out of her mouth. Obviously, that woman left a house key for Dr Michael Day. Yes, him of all people! Now I know we all thought him one of the best Christian men in town, but just so everyone knows, he is quite the man of low morals and short patience. See,I told y’all this was gonna be good!! 

Ok, so, sitting right next to meSaturday mornin‘ while I waiting for June Kathryn to ranse my hair, I watched her phone go off over A HUNDRED and 27 times. It was him, Michael Day! When she finally answered, he changed his voice (incase someone could overhear. Of course,you know how they do) and said……


“I am here, inside, safe and sound. I walked a good long ways down the street, so no one would spot me. Now I am lying on your bed with all the doors locked. I think I’m in love with you, hot mama. I cannot wait to look into your big eyes and do a quart of coke. Oh, and before I forget, do you care if we invite that really cute girl down the street over to join us when you get home? Please pretty mama? I promise you will like her.

Picture

Picture

This younger generation amazes me at what they are willing to tolerate. When I say, that lady never batted an eye, y’all she rwas all but wearing a smile. She even sounded excited about the other girl coming over when she got home. 

I think I’m going to move my church membership. I’ve been thinking about it “This younger generation amazes me as to what 




since the music minister rearranged our seats. I can’t see what the preachers wife has on from where I sit now. You can bet your bottom dollar around these parts, Minister or not, you just don’t come in and start rearranging seats in a Baptist Church. That’s why we have committees.

All I can say is “Thank You Lord” for hairdressers. Without them and a few other non-bias witnesses, Dr. Day would still be in dreading his first marriage session. Not to mention, that poor new lady (who really did need her roots touched up) would still be under investigation by the DHS.
Not to be born and raised, but rather relocated, to this town is tough. To be seated by Mrs Mots on your first Saturday at the salon, even tougher! It is critical to know who to keep your mouth shut in front of when you get your hair colored. With that being said I really hope this new lady has a pair, a big pair! She is going to need them. I personally have a 12 x 14 walk-in closet specifically for big girl panties. I’m truly sorry, but even southern hospitality does not allow the sharing of my underwear.

If I knew Mrs. Mots read blogs, I might just write one. A blog geared for her enthusiasm in gossip. You see people that are excited to hear of another’s misfortune, are covering up what we like to call “a multitude of sin”!

I would no doubt place a warning label across the blogs header. One that encourages those who are sensitive, too serious or have too much pride to admit a hiccup in their past to please take their meds prior to reading. If they are lucky I will protect names but only of the innocent. I’m kidding. I’ll protect the Mrs. Mots of the world too. We all know who they are anyway. All of you Mrs. Mots think you have covered up your filthy past. Thatyou have lived your life green with envy of someone else in this town’s past, so we ask for someone to please pass you instead of collards at the dinner table.
The blog would be educational for those who don’t know her. I would give definitions. Such as Whoyababiesdaddy? Some may be ignorant enough to think it only defined in the “Urban Dictionary”,which happens to have it all wrong. Around here, when that term is used it’s generally referring to – a married lady and the one and only time, she has ever, in the entirety of her life, kept a secret. Also generally pertaining to the subject of a married man. Here’s some new lingo for ya, MrsMots……TRIFLING. Yes ma’am, feel free to complete the comment section below. No doubt being referred to as unimportant and/or trivial in this town, will get a response out of you. It certainly won’t get you Grand Marshal of the Christmas parade for the 4th year in a row.

I urge the ladies of this category to get a new prescription of provision bifocals and to take their heart medication first thing. Reminding them of their dementia and nerve pills seems pointless. No pun intended. So pour yourself a big cup of coffee, maybe even treat yourself to a tbsp of sugar and connect to Wi-Fi, pick a blog and open it up. I will be glad for you to learn something and laugh at my expense. It’s all fun, games and shimmering lights until the reason behind all your animosity is exposed. I can’t wait to find out who the subject is, of Beauty Shop Gossip next week! In the South, will it only be found, people who write about the people, who talk about others. I’m certain there lays a story somewhere for someone to tell.

I feel as if I am wearing a disclaimer indicating my repetitive perseverance in impulsive, unrestrained, lack of control for now going on 36 years.
I’m not a fan of my past but if people can blog about their climb to success I suppose my freefall to rock bottom (where I broke both ankles trying to use a shovel), would be worth someone’s time. I’ve not been gosh awful, but just because I haven’t killed someone doesn’t make me proud. Lord knows, it doesn’t my mother.
You can bet your bottom dollar when it’s my time to be gossiped about, it won’t be due to heart failure or death. Down here you just mention my name, wait for it, yep it’s generally followed by…….I know I just heard, Bless Her Heart.
glad the 8 years I did hair no one was truly a Mrs Mots. I could put 5 or 6 together and those ladies might be pretty close to her category. Bless their sweetheart’s over half of them are now dead.
One in particular, she caught the pneumonia at the Christmas Parade. JK

Go now to my Mississippi Mustache page! Help a girl out, please! I want to use you.

(I bet that made you jump right over there)


Seriously it’s gonna be a FUN!!!



Picture


Meticulously  fabricated by: Mandi Lee Hargrove



Picture

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MrsMotshas been old and nosy as long as I can remember. That is not just my opinion, ask any local patron at the salon. We all hold our breath, in hopes she doesn’t “corner us up”. 



Picture

MrsMotshas been old and nosy as long as I can remember. That is not just my opinion, ask any local patron at the salon. We all hold our breath, in hopes she doesn’t “corner us up”. 

She is the CFO, CEO and HBIC of our local professional women’s gossip organization. These ladies are well studied in the school of business. Particularly, the business of others. Spending so much of their time researching like a passionate journalist, the lives of anyone who may be walking a less than perfect physical, mental, emotional, financial, or spiritual path at the moment. 

Mrs. Mots is that lady who will not shut up without hearing the unnecessary details of a complete strangerunspoken prayer request.

Seriously, what matter is it of hers: the occupation of the subjects maternal grandfather, in the 1950s. It never fails she always takes the prize, compliments of Beltone. Call today for a free trial.

The Mrs Mots of the world do their homework. Running over anything in their path to meet with the other ladies (who unfortunately are in her civic group), and share the latest findings of others misfortune. The majority of these women are truly focused on volunteering regularly in the community, voting for yard of the month and having coffee with fresh pound cake for brunch twice a week with dear friends. I would be willing to bet the sweet ladies of our local auxiliary wish they could recant ever voting Mrs. Mots in the club. 

The following is the latest beauty shop misfortune involving a poor soul who had no idea who Mrs. Mots was or what she was capable of! 

It as a typical Saturday morning at the salon when the new girl in town drew the short straw, that of being seated next to Mrs. Mots at the shampoo bowl. Motsoverheard (common occurance for Mrs MouthOfTheSouth)the lady ask where the restroom was, and also briefly telling her stylist of the 27 phone calls and texts she purposely declined over the past two hours from her soon to be ex husband. The young lady was obviously shaken from missing the call that came through from her 12 year old son whom she had left home alone for that morning. After all, she was assured that Magnolia Way was one of the safest streets in town). The poor thing couldn’t break away fast enough to call him back. She hung on to every word as her son’s squeaky voice inquired about changing his lunch request. 

“Instead of a BigMac with a small fry can I have a BigMac, large fry, and a Coke? Followed by the sweetest,how much longer are you going to be? Momma, I walked way down the street but then I thought of how I did not want that big dog to spot me. I’m back inside, on your bed, with all the doors locked. Safe and sound. 


Oh, and mama, do you care if I ask that pretty girl down the street to come over when you get home? She is really sweet I promise you will like her. Please mama!”

Since wearing hearing aids during the shampoo/shimmer lights process isn’t advised, along beside 14 blaring hair dryers, and the memory of a mouse, the stressors involved in Mrs. Motsrendition of the whole story, were obviously three or four more than she needed. She knew her group of ladies would be in disbelief. Mrs. Motsstarted her latest tale with the discretion of the young ladys dismal appearance that Mrs. Mots so graciously emphasized. (Down here,walking out of your bedroom for that 1st cup of coffee, is done with the same eagerness, zest, attire, hairstyle and make up as heading out the door for a fine dining experience. Mama says you never know who you might meet, see, or more importantly need….once you walk out of the comfort of your home).

It took all of three days, 72 hours, for this story to emerge. Thanks to what we refer to as, the Mouth Of The South (Mrs.Mots)…It went something like this.

“Y’all know that new lady in town. I believe she’s the third teller at the branch bank on main street. That tinythang came in the beauty shopSaturday mornin‘ (obviously a good 4-5 weeks late on her color), in those real tight stretchy workout pants, with not a stitch of lipstick on, and yall ain’tgonnabelieve what I heard come out of her mouth. Obviously, that woman left a house key for Dr Michael Day. Yes, him of all people! Now I know we all thought him one of the best Christian men in town, but just so everyone knows, he is quite the man of low morals and short patience. See,I told y’all this was gonna be good!! 

Ok, so, sitting right next to meSaturday mornin‘ while I waiting for June Kathryn to ranse my hair, I watched her phone go off over A HUNDRED and 27 times. It was him, Michael Day! When she finally answered, he changed his voice (incase someone could overhear. Of course,you know how they do) and said……


“I am here, inside, safe and sound. I walked a good long ways down the street, so no one would spot me. Now I am lying on your bed with all the doors locked. I think I’m in love with you, hot mama. I cannot wait to look into your big eyes and do a quart of coke. Oh, and before I forget, do you care if we invite that really cute girl down the street over to join us when you get home? Please pretty mama? I promise you will like her.


 




Picture

Picture

This younger generation amazes me at what they are willing to tolerate. When I say, that lady never batted an eye, y’all she rwas all but wearing a smile. She even sounded excited about the other girl coming over when she got home. 

I think I’m going to move my church membership. I’ve been thinking about it “This younger generation amazes me as to what 




since the music minister rearranged our seats. I can’t see what the preachers wife has on from where I sit now. You can bet your bottom dollar around these parts, Minister or not, you just don’t come in and start rearranging seats in a Baptist Church. That’s why we have committees.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

D

 






 





 











 






 



All I can say is “Thank You Lord” for hairdressers. Without them and a few other non-bias witnesses, Dr. Day would still be in dreading his first marriage session. Not to mention, that poor new lady (who really did need her roots touched up) would still be under investigation by the DHS.
Not to be born and raised, but rather relocated, to this town is tough. To be seated by Mrs Mots on your first Saturday at the salon, even tougher! It is critical to know who to keep your mouth shut in front of when you get your hair colored. With that being said I really hope this new lady has a pair, a big pair! She is going to need them. I personally have a 12 x 14 walk-in closet specifically for big girl panties. I’m truly sorry, but even southern hospitality does not allow the sharing of my underwear.

If I knew Mrs. Mots read blogs, I might just write one. A blog geared for her enthusiasm in gossip. You see people that are excited to hear of another’s misfortune, are covering up what we like to call “a multitude of sin”!

I would no doubt place a warning label across the blogs header. One that encourages those who are sensitive, too serious or have too much pride to admit a hiccup in their past to please take their meds prior to reading. If they are lucky I will protect names but only of the innocent. I’m kidding. I’ll protect the Mrs. Mots of the world too. We all know who they are anyway. All of you Mrs. Mots think you have covered up your filthy past. Thatyou have lived your life green with envy of someone else in this town’s past, so we ask for someone to please pass you instead of collards at the dinner table.
The blog would be educational for those who don’t know her. I would give definitions. Such as Whoyababiesdaddy? Some may be ignorant enough to think it only defined in the “Urban Dictionary”,which happens to have it all wrong. Around here, when that term is used it’s generally referring to – a married lady and the one and only time, she has ever, in the entirety of her life, kept a secret. Also generally pertaining to the subject of a married man. Here’s some new lingo for ya, MrsMots……TRIFLING. Yes ma’am, feel free to complete the comment section below. No doubt being referred to as unimportant and/or trivial in this town, will get a response out of you. It certainly won’t get you Grand Marshal of the Christmas parade for the 4th year in a row.

I urge the ladies of this category to get a new prescription of provision bifocals and to take their heart medication first thing. Reminding them of their dementia and nerve pills seems pointless. No pun intended. So pour yourself a big cup of coffee, maybe even treat yourself to a tbsp of sugar and connect to Wi-Fi, pick a blog and open it up. I will be glad for you to learn something and laugh at my expense. It’s all fun, games and shimmering lights until the reason behind all your animosity is exposed. I can’t wait to find out who the subject is, of Beauty Shop Gossip next week! In the South, will it only be found, people who write about the people, who talk about others. I’m certain there lays a story somewhere for someone to tell.


I feel as if I am wearing a disclaimer indicating my repetitive perseverance in impulsive, unrestrained, lack of control for now going on 36 years.
I’m not a fan of my past but if people can blog about their climb to success I suppose my freefall to rock bottom (where I broke both ankles trying to use a shovel), would be worth someone’s time. I’ve not been gosh awful, but just because I haven’t killed someone doesn’t make me proud. Lord knows, it doesn’t my mother.
You can bet your bottom dollar when it’s my time to be gossiped about, it won’t be due to heart failure or death. Down here you just mention my name, wait for it, yep it’s generally followed by…….I know I just heard, Bless Her Heart.
glad the 8 years I did hair no one was truly a Mrs Mots. I could put 5 or 6 together and those ladies might be pretty close to her category. Bless their sweetheart’s over half of them are now dead.
One in particular, she caught the pneumonia at the Christmas Parade. JK