Welcome to Ask Mama, for all the answers . . .

Rosalee Provenza, Mama in my mystery series, thinks she's the whole reason for Mama Does Time (Midnight Ink, 2008), and Mama Rides Shotgun (2009). She was sure her star couldn't shoot any higher after Mama Gets Hitched came out in 2010. But, sure enough, her head swelled to Hollywood diva size after 2011's Mama Sees Stars debuted with a red carpet party, complete with paparazzi. Now she's mixing it up with Mama Gets Trashed (September 2013). Don't tell Mama you read this note from me. In her mind, she sprung to life all on her own.
Sincerely,
Author Deborah Sharp
PS: Mama has a way of taking over; but you'll find my own website nearly Rosalee-free.

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Too Big for her Britches


Dear Mama:
What would you do if you had to work with a woman whose head is too big for her britches? She struts around all day like a cock rooster just gobblin' and preenin'--not really doing anything at all.

I want to feed her to the alligators but I've been told that is not the Christian way.

Signed, Sick of Miss Somethin'


Dear ''Sick,''

Now, honey, I know you're upset and I don't want to pick ... but you know that gal's HEAD can't be too big for her britches, right? Irregardless, I know what you're trying to get at here.

We've all of us had to put up with somebody not pulling their weight at work. It's worse when they act like their stuff don't stink, if you get my drift.

You're right: It's flat-out wrong to feed her to the alligators. Plus, you've already talked about it now on the Wide World of the Web, and the police have ways of getting into your Internet if Miss Somethin' happens to turn up the victim of a gator attack. That's called premeditation, honey.

That's not to say you can't take her out birdwatching or looking for swamp orchids in Starvation Slough. Let's say y'all happen to get separated, way, way out in the gator-infested swamp. Nature takes its course. Problem solved.

Love,
Mama

Friday, July 4, 2008

Ka-Boom, it's my birthday!


Howdy, y'all!

People always ask me how I like sharing a birthday with our nation. Well, I like it fine. I was 10 years old before I realized all the fireworks and whoop-dee-doo every Fourth of July wasn't specifically on account of me.

My middle daughter, Mace, always says that explains a lot.

Well, I'm not going to take too long on the computer and the Wide World of the Web today. We're having a picnic at Himmarshee Park -- BBQ ribs, baked beans and corn-on-the-cob. And, of course, my favorite dessert, butterscotch pie.

I told Ida not to bother making her potato salad this year, but I know she'll bring it anyway. Last year, my fiance Sal was the only one who'd eat it. It went through him like green grass through a goose, if you get my meaning.

Anyway, just wanted to say Happy Birthday to ME (and also to the US of A.)

Love, Mama

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