I am fixin' to have a go-round with one of The Devil's Handmaidens.
Hear that? I'm letting you in on the ground floor. Anybody want to produce this match and promote it for pay-per-view? Or even for pay-fer-view, as Farmer H calls it? This could be a rip-roarin', hair-yankin', ear-bitin'-off shindig! Sorry, though, to all of my male fans. I don't anticipate getting violent enough for any clothes to fall off, or an accidental kiss.
It's between me and Methuselah's long-lost great-great-grandma. She of the coal-black hair in a 1950s 'do. The one I usually seek out to bag my sundries, because she is efficient and logical in her combinations. But this morning, she rubbed me the wrong way.
I had popped into The Devil's Playground on the way to taking The Pony to summer school. The purpose of the pop-in was to garner some sweet treats for my mom. Today is her birthday. Seventy-nine, thanks for asking. I found a tiny Turtle Cake. And a slice of Carrot Cake. But I was torn between it and a slice of Red Velvet. My mom used to make both kinds. But it's not very rewarding to make one for yourself. And nobody else likes them. So I got all three. Your mom only turns seventy-nine once, you know.
So I carted up to the check-out, after tossing in some frozen chicken-fried rice and sweet-and-sour chicken. Because Mom loves that stuff, and we're not taking her out until we can all be together. Oh, and I gave her cards from me and the boys, and a National Enquirer and a Globe. That's what you give an ol' gal who has everything. But we're digressing. I'll try to keep you on track.
I'll be ding dang donged if that Devil's Handmaiden did not make a smart crack about the cake. "Huh. I'd never pay $2.88 for a slice of cake. That costs the same as half a whole cake!"
I pointed out that it was my mom's birthday, and I was getting her a selection instead of a whole cake.
"Still, you could have got her a whole cake. She could have frozen what she didn't eat."
I pointed out that she might freeze some of her slices as well. But I wanted a variety for her.
"That's too much money for a slice of cake."
Hmpf! Devil's Handmaidens should be seen and not heard. Who made them the food critics of Hillmomba? The arbiters of what people should and should not buy? I suppose I'm lucky she did not call me a fat hog or a P-I-G pig, and declare that she would not sell me three kinds of cake.
Yes, Devil's Handmaidens should be seen and not heard. Unless they are screamin' in pain from a proper beat-down administered by Mrs. Hillbilly Mom.