Good grief

I can't be more than a decade from death, and y'all can't write an old lady a querstion? That won't stop me from keepin' ya up to date with what's going on around here. We ran out of coffee. Someone was so excited about her new television that she forgot to order it. At just after three o'clock, I boogied over to the Save All and bought some big cans of Folgers and one can of Maxwell House, because it comes in a pretty blue can. Maxine didn't get too upset with me, though. I hurried so quick, I don't think the customers ever knew we ran out. 

This evening, I called Anna over here. In case you forgot, she's the one who gave me the television. Anyway, I had spent the afternoon writing a story for the Houston newspaper, and I wanted her to come over and help me out with the grammar crap. That ain't ever been my strong point. She told me what I wrote was real good. I hope to the high heavens that they print it. It was all about that book about our town, the man who wrote it, and how the Johnny Carson show called me. If it does come out, they tell me it'll be on Thursday, and you can bet your bottom dollar, I'll snip it out and put it up here for the world to see. I ain't gotta clue how I plan on doin' it, but Luciano or Maxine can help me out. 

Well, the rumor was dead-on. They are opening a dollar store where the dime store used to be. I saw a group of men in there working away. The mayor's gonna have to put in some kind of sign law, or else we're gonna have big ol' neon signs on every store. I might make me a trip across the parking lot to the courthouse and have me a visit with him. He generally does what I tell him to do.

Speaking of signs, we got one taped near the register announcing a homosexual meeting group. This ain't the first time they've been here, but I hope to Jesus it's calmer than the last time when people broke windows and got their Fruit of the Looms in a wad. I cain't figure people out, gettin' all worked up over a little talk. Last time, I kept my shotgun in the back, but this time, I'm considerin' standin' in the doorway with it. We can't afford any more broken windows and such. I'll declare to my soul, with so much divorcin' going on, you'd think tryin' something new would be welcome. If I could let go of my fondness of male genitals, an issue that's ended in divorce more times than I care to admit, I was ponderin' battin' for the other team on my next go-round, but that's probably a tidbit I should've kept to myself.

When you're as old as I am, one thing that's a guarantee is that you'll lose most of your friends. The other guarantee is flatulence. Used to, I could sneeze without givin' it a second thought. Now, I have to be sittin' just so in order to squeeze. I call it 'squeeze n' sneeze.' It's a fuckin' talent is what it is, but every so often, especially if there's a damn cat around, one sneaks up on ya, and you can only hope the chair seat isn't made of wood. Today, Kyle came in and lit up a cigarette not a foot from my face. Smoke don't usually bother me, but today it hit my nose just right and—ah choo! poot! Sounded like I'd started my own band. I apologized. What else can ya do except hope it don't stink.

Ain't that something, I spent most of my time writin' about aging. This is exactly what happens when I don't get any friggin' questions to answer. I bet that Rosie woman got a question or two.

Love from Winnie in Prairie Springs. And remember, if you got pink eye, rinse with soft-contact saline solution. If you got crabs, get to the pharmacy Pronto. I got me some of them boogers once, and the vacuum cleaner don't do the trick. If you got arthritis, get you some golden raisins and a bottle of gin. Drink the gin and you won't have to worry 'bout eatin' the raisins.