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.
Author Deborah Sharp
PS: Mama has a way of taking over; but you'll find my own website nearly Rosalee-free.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

If Only BUBBA Got Run Over by a Reindeer

Dear Mama, Here it is almost Christmas, and I still don't know what to do about my husband's drunken uncle, Bubba. He's managed to ruin every holiday dinner his family has ever had. This is my first year hosting at our home, and I flat-out do not want that sorry loser at my dinner table.

It'd be one thing if the man was a cheerful drunk. But he gets meaner than a rattlesnake with every swallow, and just as likely to strike. Last year, he told Donnie's cousin Toya she ought to lose some of her excess baby weight, and the only way to do it was to quit stuffing her face like she was still eating for two. PS: Toya was never pregnant.

When her boyfriend stood up to defend her, Bubba knocked him into the just-carved turkey. When the poor boy hit the floor, he brought down the bird and three side dishes. Donnie's mama was picking giblets and creamed corn out of her shag carpet for a week after.
Should Bubba be banned, Mama?


Doesn't Like Drunks

Dear Doesn't,

Honey, I have been there, done that. Husband No. 2 was an awful drinker, and three of his brothers were alkies, too. When those four got together, it was like backsliders' night at the Halfway House. One Fourth of July, those mo-rons brought two cases of fireworks to set off. I'm here to tell you Jack Daniels and explosives do not make a good match.

No. 2's youngest brother blew off his right thumb. After the ambulance took him away, the oldest two got into a fight about whose fault it was. One pulled out a gun and started shooting. Everybody dove for cover, including that sourpuss Ida, who nearly fractured a hip trying to hide under the picnic table.

So, my answer is yes, lock your door and hide the key. Tell Bubba he's banned from your family table until he takes those 12 Steps. Of course, that's no reason the rest of y'all can't enjoy a little nip of holiday cheer. I always say the worst parties come down to either too much liquor or not enough. Believe me, a little glass of pink wine is about the only thing that makes my sister-in-law Ida tolerable.


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