Hey, Mrs. Donna Jean. Whatcha doing?
“Just settin’ a spell while them silly ol’ boys noodle and doodle they lives away. Havin’ myself a sip o’ tea.”
Um. Okay.
“Maybe gon’ smoke me one o’ dem funny cigarettes, hoo boy.”
I am positive you are not from Louis–
“Dis just like t’porch we had back on the bayou-prairie-farm d’warm wind blowing your chiffon all over da place, roll tide and praisin’ dat Jesus.”
Ok, this is just offensive now. Plus there is no such place as a–
“My momma would set down ness t’me and I’d say, ‘Mrs. Momma Jean Godchaux–”
THAT WAS NOT HER NAME.
“–will I ever find a man to love? And will he play piano and like narcotics and scarves? Will he be lumpy?’ and she’d answer back, ‘The lumpiest! For you, sweet child, only the very lumpiest will do!’
None of this happened.
“Stop being a pedant, sugar: you’re the one having a conversation with a photograph from the previous century.”
…
Your hair looks wonderful.
“Bless your heart.”
PLUS: Bobby’s everything.
The lumpiest!? You ah too much chile.