The F Word

Well, hell. I guess I should be excited that I have a fan. The same person who wrote me askin' for marriage advice now wants to know where the F-word was invented. My answer is: I don't have a fuckin' clue. Marie, my Catholic friend, is always giving the F word up for lint. You should hear her after Easter, cussin' like a sailor. 

Hold on...Maxine's readin' over my shoulder. 

She tells me the word is Lent. I think it's lint. Who would name a Jesus day after split peas? Now that I'm thinking, I reckon that makes more sense than naming it after dryer fuzz or clothes dander. 

Anyhoo, I ain't got a clue 'bout where words come from except for them days of the week I mentioned. Daddy wudn't as bright as he played, but as a kid, you take what's given to ya and don't ask too many querstions. 

Gettin' on with other business. Today I found me a place called Google where you can type something in and it gives you a list. If you click on the list, it takes you to somewheres else. I'm still tryin' to figure out how to use the damn thing, but it seems right handy. I typed me in that Rosie O'Donnell lesbian lady's name and a whole bunch of stuff came up. Where have I been? You can ask her a question, too. I ain't done it yet, but I'm fixin' to. I'm gonna read some of her writin' before I ask her somethin'.

Well, kiddos, after not gettin' much shut-eye last night, I'm a-pooped tonight. Sorry I ain't much fun, but I did want to say 'hi ya.' Keep writin' to me. Y'all don't know what a nicely written letter does to an old woman's soul.

All my love, 

Winnie from Prairie Springs