WWDS

"What would Dixie Say?"

"I'm saying this is the South. And, we're proud of our crazy people. We don't hide them up in the attic. We bring 'em right down to the porch." From Julia, Designin' Women, Season 2.

Well, this has been a cruel and unusual month, robbin’ me of my ability to write, think, type, and on a bad day…even breath. April is tricky, you never know what to wear, your legs haven’t got tan and once again it’s time to bring out the wax and suffer what we must, for the landin' strip, the dreaded Hedge trimming!

Why, I had to give myself a "pedi" the other day when the weatherman said it was gonna be 90. Brought out the dremal. It didn’t matter that my feet were white…that’s forgivable, what mattered was gittin' the quarter inch of ash and hide off my heals. I looked like a Yeti for God’s sake. But these things are small.

Be that as it may, the Spring is a bad month for Momma and while she makes it through the Winter pretty good, the Spring, well…it makes her think she is gittin' married to a dead man. That’s right…every year she goes through the same torment…her soul mate is alive and hidden and she is gonna git married and wear a dress like Ivana Trump…and then she is gonna have a reception in the town park. This is true, this is exactly what she said when she called me the other night.

Breaks my heart really…I wish every woman could marry their soul-mate…dead or alive. But the thing is…you just can’t run around askin' folks if they know where that dead soul mate is…cause that will git you…well, it will git you a 72 hour ECO from the magistrate. It will git you put in someplace against your will and people will ask you a zillion questions and then they will tell your family things like…Your Momma has the right to have what ever delusion she can dream up honey, no law against a little wishful thinkin'! She just needs to you know, keep it a bit more civil, you can’t yell at folks and threaten them when they tell you your soul-mate has shall we say…”left the building”. ( Hummmm, I threaten Vera Lee all the time, I better be careful in the future to only whisper those threats)

Just the other day, MeMe and I thought we might still have a year or two of Trophy Bride status left in us. MeMe said, to quote the poet Shikerra “These hips don’t lie!” Go MeMe, perhaps the officer who picks your hips up might agree. But anyway, I’m delusional too; I actually think "the girls still ride high in the saddle; and my chin is still located in line with my ears. I think all of that, and I have a right to, and above all, I will curse you if you tell me different.

I have the right to remain delusional, anything I say…can and will be used against me…but only if my delusions present a harm to myself or others.
I have the right to an attorney who will tell my family that I have the right to live with animal companions as long as no-one smells them and I dispose of any who might pass while under my care.
I have the right to privacy too, I mean even though I have been declared a risk to myself, I can keep that to myself and the doctors cannot tell anyone my business, not even my family…it’s a SECRET! One would think Momma was Obamma given the security I have had to penetrate to tell the social worker who will not admit that she is actually there…what the unknown person has been up to lately so they can make a treatment plan for the alledged person who may or may not be in their charge.
I don’t mean to be harsh, Momma is just a little ole lady with big ole problems and we all want to help, but no……it’s a right to be incognito once detained for being…shall we say of questionable mental status. Well, I guess I will just have to let them figure it all out without any past history. Heaven forbid I might just influence them with a history of past behavior. Sucks, that’s just not right…it’s prejudice I suppose and I would not want to prejudice those working in the field of mental health.
I have the right to all of my property as long as I can slam a door on it…hide it, or drink it and don’t drive under the influence, I can just sit back and spend myself into a hole and never git out...and I guess those folks that I have the right not to tell will jus take care of that too.
I have the right to “bare arms” even though I have bat wings these days…I have the right to flap all over you…as long as I don’t hurt you.
It’s frustratin, I feel bad for momma, and my heart hurts, and I’m so sorry Dixie left us…she would know just what to say to those mean ole HIPPA flag tote’n CSB workers.

I’m off to the front porch now, its happy hour and Buck chilled the Champ-ale. We’ll toast to Momma and better days, days filled with soul-mates, and silk dresses, and receptions in the park.