Eller

Nothin' makes my day more than for L.R. "Eller" Williamson to stop by and see me. I'll Suwannee! He's a fuckin' diamond in the dung. He might want to call first next time, however. He had the unpleasant surprise of seeing me in my birthday suit. You can imagine how wrinkled it is after ninety-one years, for crying out loud. Anyway, he stopped by and Maxine told him he could go on back to my apartment. I was standing at the back door, naked as a jay bird, smoking one of my mood ciggies, when he popped his head in. He turned as red as a beet and hightailed it back out into the table area of the cafe and waited for me there. When I emerged, I made sure I was completely dressed. One day I was nearly to the cash register when I realized I'd forgotten to put on my britches. Thank the Lord Constance wasn't there to snap a picture or I'd have been front- and-center on the first page of The Herald. 

So, Eller and me, we had us a cup of coffee together. I tell you, if I were fifty-five years younger, and he were straight, I know he would have been one of my husbands. As it is now, I just think he's as cute as a button. 

That book he wrote, Prairie Springs, is going to be a hit one day. I keep tellin' people to buy it. We got a stack of 'em here by the register and they sell like hotcakes. The ones who read it, come back and buy more copies to give as gifts. And I get more fan mail than I have in my life. Actually, it's the first time I've ever gotten any fan mail. He done me up real swell in the book. 

I'm as wired as an electrical outlet. I'm on my third expresso this afternoon. We started selling Cuban coffee and I cain't get enough. I'd better stop now or I won't be able to close my eyes when I go to bed. Friday's are always late nights anyways. It's the one night when the high school kids—those old enough to drive—come in and drink coffee. 

I got to do my taxes. You'd think they'd put an age limit on that shit. Every fuckin' year, it's the same mess of paperwork. I ain't gotta a clue what I'm doin', so I just do the best I can. 

Y'all have a good weekend. Keep the questions coming. My email address is winniecollins@gmail.com. 

All my love,

Edwina

The Worst thing about Being Me?

What kind of fuckin' question is that? Ain't nothin' wrong with being me. I enjoy every part of me, so I ain't right sure why I need to have a worst thing. But to answer the question that somebody done asked, I'll say, "I ain't got a fuckin' clue." I downright enjoy myself. 

Stacy Stewart, the mayor's wife, is getting her certification. Remember I told y'all she's always in here reading self-help books? Well, she already gots her psychology degree, so now she's going back to school to get her certification going. She'll soon be opening "The Couch" somewhere here in Prairie Springs. She hasn't set her fees yet, but I don't reckon I'll have the time or the money to go. Ain't no use trying to go get somethin' fixed that ain't broken. And if somethin' is broken, I don't wanna know about it. But there are some other folks around town that could sure use a couch for an hour. Hell, there are some who could use a sofa-bed.

In other news, Maxine and Luciano still haven't set a date, but Maxine's wearing her ring proudly. The INS hadn't been back in here, and I doubt they'll be back. You don't wanna mess with a 91 y.o. who owns guns. A lifetime sentence for me would be pretty damn short.

While I'm on the subject of foreigners, I hear they're thinking of building a big wall between here and Mexico. My question is who's gonna build it? The Mexicans are the ones who build the roads we drive on and I ain't never seen the INS arrest a highway construction crew. I suspect the Mexicans will also build the wall and at the very end there will be a little hole for them to crawl through when their work is finished. That just don't make any sense, but I bet my bottom dollar that what's going to happen. I asked Luciano why he don't become a citizen and he told me it takes over ten years. It ain't no wonder there are so many illegal people. Maybe Maxine should go teach them how to use the computer at the citizenship place. 

I got me a purple wig. Now, don't go thinkin' I've lost my marbles. I only wear it on Friday and when we have special meetings here. I think it looks right fine on me. Today I ain't wearing it, cause today ain't Friday and there ain't no special meetin', but I'm all for spicing up dull routines. When The Tonight Show calls back, at least I'll have my new wig to sport about. I'll look right fancy strutting up and down Rodeo Drive in it. 

Speaking of colors, I see Constance coming across the parking lot in her turquoise getup. I doubt she's coming for caffeine, but I could be wrong. Anyway, I gotta go back to work. 

Keep the questions coming in. 

All my love, 

Edwina Collins

It's About Damn Time

The other day—'bout a month ago or so. A wicked storm came through Prairie Springs and knocked out phone lines and electricity wires. It was terrible. I thought I'd done seen my dying day, but low and behold, I'm still here and they finally got the phone and internet a-workin'. They probably had to wait on some Chinese children to make the cables and crap, bless their hearts. But, we're back on the screen here at the Theater Cafe, and the phone works, too. 

Now that we're back up, I ain't got much time to write. We're always busy first thing in the mornin', but I'll be back later, ya hear.

All my love, 

Winnie C.