Th’ Fust Time I Seed Her

She were a gangl’y gal whot wudn’t dress out more’n a hunnert an’ ten whenst she sole popcorn at that movin’ pitchur show. I allus figur’d that her Pa an’ Ma’d sorta rooted her ta th’ high end uv th’ troff an’ whot vittles she got wus not th’ kind ta put meat on a gal’s bones. She were twelve an’ still single an’ a’comin’ clost ta bein’ a old maid.

Now, this here nite, I didn’t have me no gal ta be wiff, so’s I jus sash-ayed up thare an’ sez hidey ta her. She grinned rale big and I knowed that I had made a m’pression on her wiff my sharkskin britches an’ duck-tail haircut. Atter I leaned up ‘gainst th’ wall an’ rolled me a cigarette, I axed her iffen she’d admire ta set in th’ show wiff me. She took me up on hit, which weren’t no mor’n I’d ’spected, me bein so debonner an’ all.

Atter that thare nite, hit were near ’bout a year ‘fore I seed her agin. Me an’ Jerry had parked th’ log truck in front uv the dime store one nite whenst this here same gal come outten th’ store. LAW, how she’d COME OUT! She weren’t gangl’y no more. She were a’wearin’ peddle pushers an’ a sweater whot ‘peared ta be ’bout ta bust an’ I ‘cided rat then I’us gonna marry up wiff that perty thang.

Atter us’ens sparked fer a spell, I axed her Pa iffen he wonted ta git shed uv her an’ he sez “Uh-huh.” Well’sr, hit wont long atter us’ens got married up an’ she commenced a’eatin’ all them rich rations like potted meat and wennies ’til she come ta be consarned ’bout a’gittin’ hefty. She sez ta me one day, “Jay Henry, honey, does you reccon I better go on one uv them diets?” I tolt her that hit were either that er she were gonna be ‘quired ta buy her some new peddle pushers.

She got me ta read her all them diets whot comes out in th’ almaneck an’ she picked her one an’ sent off atter hit. Hit were th’ one whare you drink them cans uv stuff ’stead uv eatin’ an’ hit mus’ of worked ’cause she commenced a’fallin’ off. She were so tickled wiff that thare diet, she ‘cided ta keep a’drinkin that thare stuff, ‘cept this time, she wud drink hit along wiff her potted meat an’ wennies.

She had fell off ’til she cud git them peddle pushers back on an’ then she got tarred uv a’starvin’ an’ taken up th’ ’spression: “Perty is lak perty does.” She taken them peddle pushers an’ that thare sweater an’ cut ‘em up fer dish rags.

Now, whenst us’ens go sommers an’ she sees a young, gangl’y gal, she sez ta me, “Jay Henry, honey, ain’t you glad I quit a’drinkin that thare stuff in them cans an’ don’t look lak I done fell off ’til I ain’t nothin’ but skin an’ bones?”

Me, I jus tell her: “Perty is lak perty does,” an’ let hit go at that thare. ‘Cides, flour sack frocks be’s a whole heap cheaper than them thare peddle pushers.

Myself, I purely b’leve that iffen I cud break her uv her ‘fatuation wiff cheese crackers ‘n belly washers, she cud fall off anytime. I ’speck th’ only way ta do that thare wud be ta break boff her arms an’ then she cudn’t hold on to th’ plow handles an’ I’d be in a mess, shore ’nuff.

So I sez ta myself: “Self, jus leave hit alone.”

Writ by Jay Henry

How well I remember

I go back to what some folks refer to as the good old days. Their primary reasoning for this description of the 1930’s is that they have heard, from us old folks that a pair of shoes could be purchased for $1.98 or a shirt for $0.98. They have not taken into consideration that one would have to work for better than two days to earn enough for these expenditures. In those days, an adult’s weekly wages would have amounted to less than the money that many of today’s children receive as an allowance. I suppose the fact of the financial situation of most families during and just after the depression was, at best, despondent.  This is primarilly  the reason that even now, I cannot bring myself to pay $150.00 or $200.00 for a pair of shoes. Allowances were something enjoyed by the rich, city, children and something that rural kids only dreamed about. Any monies that they were able to earn were combined in an effort to keep the wolf from the door.

As the economy improved, more modern conveniences were added to the lives of rural Americans. A couple of these conveniences were the automobile and the telephone. The automobile was perhaps the most helpful for the rural families since they could travel distances in a few hours that would take all day in a horse-drawn wagon. But, few of today’s citizens are aware that their cost for a tank of gasoline for their $25-30,000 cars is more than the average adult wages for a month.

Now comes the telephone, the first of which was a wall-mounted box with a crank that rang into central where a pleasant voice would say, “Number, please. If we didn’t know the number, all that was necessary was to ask central to ring Dr. Pervis. If the call was confidential, we simply asked Mrs. Belton and Mrs. Smith (two of several people on our party line) to hang up. Certainly, we were not asked to press or say English. Nor were we asked to press or say one if we wanted an appointment, or were asking about a bill, etc.

These computer-driven telephones have been a thorn in my side for several years. Dialing a number and being asked to say what language I want to speak really grates on my last nerve. Hey, Look! This is America and we are Americans, talking on an American telephone. If different languages are so important to the ones we are calling, they should hire an interpreter to answer their damned telephone. I seriously doubt if any other country worries about whether or not we can understand when we make a call on their telephone.

I’ll quit bitching, now.

Demijon