This evening, I made me a fresh batch of my special can of butter. I guess they call it that because you keep it in a can, at least I do. I use one of them baking-soda cans. I got me an invitation for dinner, so I like to take my brownies to ease the tension. Some people are just too uptight for their own good! And, well, you can't make no special brownies without special butter. And don't go askin' me for the recipe, 'cause that's the one thing I ain't givin' out.
When you're as old as I am, you realize things don't matter like they did when you were younger. For heaven's sake, I remember when I worried so much 'bout what everyone thought I couldn't live my own life. Now, peoples askin' me for advice, so apparently I've done somethin' right. Let me tell ya, it ain't easy bein' different here in Prairie Springs, a town that looks like the good Lord just sat on the fuckin' copy button of the Xerox machine, but I ain't got nobody to please but Jesus, and I think I've done that. I ain't never shot anybody. I've shot at people, but never hit them. I love everybody, even though they don't care much for me, and I go visit sick people in the hospital while them holier-than-thou's are warmin' the pews. So, I don't see no harm in cookin' up some fancy brownies to take the edge off, now and again.
For cryin' out loud! I almost forgot to tell y'all who stopped by the cafe this afternoon. I almost didn't recognize him since he went and grew a mustache. He was standin' at the counter casually orderin' a coffee when I realized who it was. L.R. Williamson, that guy who wrote the Prairie Springs book. I told him all about The Tonight Show callin' and writin', and I told him about that woman who does Oprah's nails. Poor thing, he spent so long writin' the book, he ain't got a pot left to piss in. I didn't charge him for the coffee, bless his little cotton-pickin' heart. He and I visited for a nice while.
If you haven't bought yourself the book, what the fuck are ya waitin' for? It's as funny as all get-out, and who'd've known so much was happenin' right here in Prairie Springs. If you get a copy before I get on the television, he might autograph it the next time he comes through.
In other news, I've got me a fuckin' bunion. Nothin' fun about them. I'm sittin' here writin' with naked feet. There's nothin' more disgusting that the feet of a ninety-one-year-old woman, but since cain't nobody see me...
Well, folks. I ain't got no mail and nothin' else to talk about. Maxine told me to check out some person called Rosie O'Donnell. I don't know who the hell she is, but she left me a button to click to go to her page. I don't really know what "page" means, but I'll try and figure it out. I'll write more when I can. My two-cents for the day, "If life's a highway, get off the fuckin' frontage road."
Love, Winnie
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