Fashion Emergency

Dear Mama,

I saw that gal who's been writing up your stories, and I think you've been falling down on the job. Folks look to you to know what looks good (I loved that boysenberry pantsuit you wore to the Livestock Auction in Himmarshee . . . and you found earrings, a scarf, and those little strappy sandals to match that unusual shade of purple. I sure hope you didn't step in anything in those shoes on the way out of the cattle ring . . . )

Anyways, that poor author gal could sure use a make-over. She's talked about trying to update her look, but I know for a fact she's had the identical hairstyle since 1979.

Can't you drag her down to Hair Today Dyed Tomorrow? Or take her in for a clothing consult at Home on the Range Feed Store and Fashion Emporium? I mean, really, anything would be an improvement.

I'm not kiddin,' Mama. You've got to step in. She's thinking about going out on YOUR book tour in Birkenstocks. I just pray she doesn't wear them with socks.


Sincerely, Fashion Conscious


Dear Fashion Conscious,

Honey, you are preaching to the choir. I've talked to that poor gal 'til I'm blue in the face. I can't get her to understand the first thing about fashion.

Those Birkenstock shoes aren't the worst of it. Did you happen to see her at Gladys' restaurant when she visited Himmarshee the other day? Not a stitch of make-up, not even lipstick. And the poor thing has spent her life in the Florida sun. I offered to show her how to fill in some of those creases and wrinkles with a good foundation.

And don't get me started on those drab clothes. Nobody looks good in beige.

So, I appreciate what you're saying, but believe me, I've tried. She reminds me of my middle daughter, Mace. The both of them are stubborn as mules about taking my advice.

Love,

Mama

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

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

My Best Friend's a Judas

Dear Mama,

I am so mad at my former best friend I'm fixin' to knock her teeth down her throat just so I can watch her spit 'em out single-file.
She betrayed me with my no-account boyfriend, Darryl! They did the deed in the king-sized bed I'm still paying off on my credit card. Even worse, I just found out she's pregnant.
I lost my best friend and my boyfriend (though, honestly, Darryl is no loss.)
Here's my question: I've been invited to the baby shower. Do I have to bring a gift?
Signed,
Done Wrong


Dear Done,

Honey, the only thing worse than a cheating man is a Judas best friend. And believe me, I've known my share of both. If she wasn't in the family way, I'd declare open season on those teeth of hers and tell you to start knockin'.
But there's a way to get her back so you won't get hauled in for assault.
Go to that baby shower looking like a million bucks. Her ankles are likely all swollen and she feels big as a house, so she'll see the contrast right off. Talk about how getting rid of Darryl is the best thing that ever happened to you. You know she already regrets hooking up, so this'll remind her what a loser he is. And, finally, bring the nicest gift you can afford. You'll look like the better woman, and Lord knows that poor child deserves something special considering the no-class parents he's got.

Love, Mama

Who'd Make the Best President?

Dear Mama,

I'm curious about how Himmarshee (and you!) will vote in the presidential election? You've helped so many people with love and fashion tips, I thought you might have something to say about politics, too.


Signed,
Are you Red or Blue?



Dear Red or Blue,

Well, honey, I'm a Summer, so neither of those colors is right for me. I favor pastels. Primary colors look best on gals with Winter complexions and coloring. Stop by and see me sometime at Hair Today Dyed Tomorrow beauty parlor, and I'll give you a free sample of your own seasonal color chart.

As for your other question, politics was something my mama always told us to steer clear of in polite company. I found out why during my marriage to Husband No. 3. He was a nice man otherwise, but he could talk the hind leg off a dog when it came to politics. He had some real strong opinions, too. Plus, he'd argue them louder and louder, just like those folks on cable TV.

Once, at Thanksgiving, No. 3 lit into my nephew, who's a bit of a liberal, if you get my drift. Kenny took it as long as he could, until he finally ended up dumping a nearly full serving dish of Ida's green bean casserole right over my ex's head. I was mad about my tablecloth, but it gave me a secret thrill to see my sister-in-law's awful cream of mushroom soup and canned onion ring concoction dripping down No. 3's brow.

Two birds with one stone.

Anyway, trying to persuade someone to your political views is like getting into a pissing match with a polecat. One of you is sure to end up stinking.

Love,
Mama

I'm Famous, Y'all!

Take a gander at the book cover on your right. Have you ever seen anything so exciting?
Of course, it wasn't exciting for the poor soul I found stuffed into my trunk like a piece of Samsonite luggage, may he rest in peace.
But for me it was a thrill to see the cover. It's a Coming Attraction for one of my stories, which will be on all the bookshelves Oct. 1, 2008.
You might remember me telling you about that snooty author, the one who's been running around taking the credit for writing Mama Does Time. So she wrote it down, big deal. I'm the one who lived it.
And Miss Smarty Pants Sharp better not forget that.
Anyhoo, I hope you like the cover. And, by the way, that poor soul in the trunk actually deserved what he got ... but you can read all about it in Mama Does Time.
PS: In case you forgot, I'm Mama.
PSS: You better hurry and write Ask Mama if you need some advice. Once my fancy book tour starts, I won't have as much time to pass out my pearls of wisdom.

Gridiron Griping

Dear Mama,

I was hoping you could help me with my man. Problem is the Falcons. We married on a good year when they only lost a few games. Life was good then, but all that's changed.
Maybe you saw them play last season? They stunk up the stadium, that's for sure.
When the Falcons loose, Earl don't even talk at all until Wednesday or Thursday. He mopes around the house, kickin' at the dog and mumblin' about yards gained and sacks. By Friday he's bitchin' about next weeks game.
I can't stand it!
I tried callin' the coach and askin' for a better Fall, but he just laughed. I don't think I can take another year of Earl tossin' beer cans at the TV.
Sincerely,
Fourth Down and Out

Dear Fourth Down,

I sympathize with you, honey. Husband No. 3 was a nut for NASCAR. Back then, the late, great Dale Earnhardt was dominating the track. But on those rare days ol' Dale didn't win .... whoo-eee, Watch Out! I'd have to tip-toe around the house like I did when No. 2 was hung-over. And that was a lot of walking on my toes, I'll tell you that.
Short of you solving the Falcons' quarterback problems yourself, I think you'd better prepare for another losing season.
But you're missing an opportunity to bond with your man. You can sit down and watch the game with him, and both of you can toss beer cans at the TV. Nothing like cursing pitiful coaching together to build your relationship. When he bitches about the defense, you bitch about it, too.
But for heaven's sake, put the poor dog outside. It's enough the Falcons' fans suffer; the dog shouldn't have to, too.

Love,
Mama

Never too much Leopard!

Dear Mama,

I've seen you around town at the Speckled Perch and whatnot and I think you have the best fashion sense of any woman in Himmarshee, a lot better than those Yankees on TV.

I can see you like to match and I do, too. My question is this. My no good sister is marrying my ex boyfriend next month. She did not ask me to be a bridesmaid so I'm planning to wear a leopard dress just to show her up. My question is this: is it too much to have shoes to match? My girlfriends are divided on this.

Signed, Bitter and Proud of it

Dear Bitter,

I always say when it comes to animal prints, a little bit is never enough. (Of course, I say that about a lot of things .... including marriages.)

Your girlfriends are wrong, honey. Go whole hog: not just the shoes in matching leopard, but a purse and a scarf, too. Maybe you can even have the manicure gal at Hair Today, Dyed Tomorrow do your nails in black-and-gold spots. You'll outshine that slutty sister like a jungle cat trumps a tabby.

Be careful with those fake nails, though. I predict a catfight before the cake's cut, and nobody wants to find a pinky nail in their chicken pasta.

Love, Mama

Red Flannel and Elvis

Dear Mama,

I'm a newlywed, and I want to make sure I have proper eteekit to fit in with my new husband's family. I have a few questions, and I'd really aprechiate your help.

Will my food stamps buy beer at the Red Neck Alley Inn?

My husband, DeWayne, looks so cute in that red flannel union suit so I don't mind none that he wears it everyday. Even in the summer. But I say we need to bring it down to the laundromat every Sunday, right after church. DeWayne says it can wait 2 sermons. Mama, how often do you think his union suit should be washed?

I'm an Elvis fan. Don't get me wrong. But that life-size cut-out DeWayne moves around our trailer creeps me out sometimes. I don't mind him at the dinner table much. But when Elvis lays in bed with us, well, like I said, Elvis is the king. But am I wrong to think he shouldn't be between us when we sleep?

I'm shure I'll have more questins for ya', Mama. Thanks for yer help.

Love and Nascar, Molly Sue Ann Bob Billy JoJo Walker




Dear Molly Sue Ann etc. etc. etc.,


Honey, I wouldn't worry a bit about fitting in. If you've already scoped out the beer and bowling at the Red Neck Alley, you sound like the perfect match for your new man and his family.
As I see it, you've got yourself a husband, nearby bowling, AND Elvis. Count your blessings, gal! You could have a Rottweiler named Cujo in bed with you, like another one of my advice-seekers who wrote in. At least Elvis don't bite!
As for buying the beer, the way you handle that is to sell some of your food stamps first for cash. But I'd save the booze for nights DeWayne refuses to wash that red flannel, and I'd opt for something a little stronger than beer.
As for me personally, I can't abide the smell of liquor or an unwashed man after Husband No. 2. But you've got plenty of time to find out how much you're willing to take in the name of matrimony.

Love,
Mama

Well, I Never!

Did you see what that smart-aleck author did now? I don't think it's one bit funny that she stuck that picture of a mule up there where my blogger photo should be!
Now, I'll admit I can be a little bit stubborn at times ... and I have been known to tie on the feedbag a fair bit, especially when it comes to barbecue or butterscotch pie.
But, really, a mule?
That Deborah Sharp is about to pluck my last nerve. Mercy me, that gal could make a preacher cuss!