In a stunning surge of creative output, the voluminously-talented Melanie has crafted a third tale based on the Bonnywood Manor story prompts. In this installment, she recounts yet another oratory from the crusty but beloved Granny Mae, mayor of Gravy Bucket, Oklahoma. Enjoy.

The Ponderin’ about the Plummin’

“Now I’m lookin’ at some post from… well, I won’t name names, but this town is small enough that most of you can do the figurin’ on your own. So this person really had their underwear in a twist about a new law that was bein’ considered on up there in Washington, D.C. Now, y’all know how I stand on most things, and I’m happy to let you know if you don’t, and this is what I gotta say about that post…”

Granny Mae continued:  “Wimmen is in charge o’ their own reproducin’ decisions.  Despite what them farty ol’ men in Washingtun Dee Cee sez about it.   I knows they ain’t gonna be decidin’ fer ME!”

Given that Granny Mae is roughly a couple of hundred years old made this startling news.   It was doubtful her field had been plowed in known memory.  Several older men shifted uncomfortably in their seats, but that may have been the fact that those folding chairs ain’t NEVER comfortable.   Even the fancy ones with padded seats.

The women applauded and there was some general murmuring and head nodding, the sort one sees at any public gathering, whether it’s in a palace or a barn that was used as City Hall on alternate Thursdays.

Mayor Mae looked over her audience and nodded grimly.   “Yep.  Now in the interests of time, sumpthin which them ol’ boys in the guvermint never learnt nuthin about, that’s ALL I’m gonna say about it.”

There was a loud cough from the rear of the assembly.   A thin man who looked vaguely inbred rose to his feet.   His stubbled chin quivered.

“Hey y’all!” said Bubba.   Bubba Earl is Granny Mae’s sister’s second cousin once removed’s boy, he’s from Utah.  Bubba ain’t been right in the head since that castrated bull uprising and something about an iron bedstead and a stubbed toe which turned septic.  His actual name is “Earl”, but good ol’ boys are never called by their right names.  Not in rural Utah any how.

“Why is thur sich a fuss ‘bout this re-producshion bidness?  Everybody knows men got to make them decishuns because wimmen folk isn’t savvy enuf to do thet.  It sez so right in the Bible.”   Someone called, soto voce, for a translator, because they only understood maybe one word in ten of Earl’s ranting.

A loud and hostile murmuring came from the women in the barn/hall and a really ripe tomato barely missed Bubba Earl’s head and landed *SPLAT* right on the podium.  Granny, no fool, stepped deftly aside and remarked:

“Aw right now, let’s not be havin’ violenz here.   Y’all know my sister’s second cousin once remove’s boy, Bubba Earl, right?  I got his contact informashun available for anyone who wants it and I ain’t afraid to share that freely neither.  I hope he’s got the sense God gave a grasshopper, though I got my doubts ‘bout that; ta sit down and shut up.   Else some major ass whuppin might commence and we all don’t need to see that kind o’ mess at this meetin’. “ 

She glared at Bubba Earl, who wilted visibly, but remained on his feet, a testament to stupid entitled people of any gender everywhere.   Some folks don’t know when to quit, do they?  Sorta like this tale.

Bubba Earl said “Men.  It’s our’n RIGHT to make the decishuns for the wimmen.  God give it to us.  The problems with this here country is that we ain’t doin’ that near enuf.”  Nobody said anything.  Crickets chirped and a cow lowed softly in the meadow, grateful to be a cow and none of that mess that humans were.  “Ain’t that SO MEN?”  Bubba continued.  Still nobody spoke. 

Then there was a harpy like shriek of  “AW SHUT UP an’ SIT DOWN EARL!” from the faded woman redolent of resentment and despair; who was seated to the left of Bubba.  “You always embarrassin’ folks and you never do know whut the sam hill you talkin’ about in the first place!   We got us five kids now and it’s all mainly due to yer attitude ‘bout stuff you don’t understand.   Well thet and yur daddy’s moonshine.  But I kin tell ya right now and in front of God and ever’body that you ain’t never goin’ to get near me agin, lessen you do as I say.  ‘Cos you KNOW who is in charge.  Thet ol’ sayin’ about “if momma ain’t happy, ain’t NOBODY happy” is true.”   Bubba Earl went a much whiter shade of pale and abruptly deflated, sat down.   Because he did know.

The meeting broke up because it was obvious nothing was going to be solved and rotten squashed tomatoes are nothing anyone wants to clean up in mass quantity.    And so it was over the formerly great land called ‘the United States’.  There’s a lesson in that somewhere, and people with common sense and some actual thoughts in their heads, wept.

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This is a cautionary tale for anyone who cares to think about such things.   Until equality is the rule instead of the exception, ain’t nobody gonna win.   Not just in places like Texas or Utah either.   EVERYWHERE.  Now I’m going to take Granny’s sage advice and know when to quit.  Tip your server.  Isn’t his or her fault this ran a bit long, now is it?

Note: If you are interested in playing in our story-time sandbox here at Bonnywood, please feel free to do so, as there are no time limits or actually-enforceable regulations. (Once again, the pertinent click.) Jump in, the water’s fine.

Melanie’s original post can be found here.

Side note to Melanie: Ya done good, ya did. Mmm hmm.