When the Kinfolk Come Callin'

At the moment, Ma is on the front porch in her nightie entertaining Uncle Mullet and Aunt Mowsalot, along with my trashy-big boobed-lazy eyed cousin and all the little heathern youngins. It was a sneak attack ya'll.

I was sitting here struggling with Photoshop, which I suck at by the way, trying to make a spiffy new banner as I lounged around in my terry clothed robe with the floral print which lost it's tie belt years ago. The "girls", although modestly covered.. for the most part..were free to flop and sway as their souls desired. The television was on but the volume was turned way down, just enough sound to avoid total silence in the house. I had my coffee, the dogs were taking a mid-morning nap and all was right with the world.

And then.... there came a knock at the door.

It was Sugar, my trashy cousin's youngin. I could see her mother and grandmother out in the car, glaring. "Call Uncle Mullet and ask him where he is." Since I don't socialize with Uncle Mullet or his offspring any more than is absolutely necessary, I don't have his cellphone number. I'd grabbed Yoda (the Chihuahuaranian) to keep him from running out the door, so I struggled with his wiggly little body with one hand, kept my robe closed with the other and led little Sugar back to Ma's room, where Sugar tells Ma, "Would you please call Uncle Mullet and ask him where he is?"

Ma of course obliged because there is absolutely nothing she won't do for the little precious Sugar. When she called Uncle Mullet she asked him where he was, then giggled loudly and proclaimed, "Well that fixes that then don't it?!"

Apparently he was already in our driveway.

The whole Hee-Haw gang congregated out on the porch for a couple of hours, while I hid in the house like the scary, fat, spinster cousin who's anti-social skills have been groomed to perfection over the years and who generates hurried whispers among the hillfolk, speculating upon her sexual orientation and God knows what else.

It wasn't always this way, there was a time when I was the gleam in everyones eye, when I thought Uncle Mullet was the greatest thing since sliced bread and there was nothing I wanted more than to live closer to Aunt Mowsalot. She seemed like she was just so damned cool and I wanted to be her best friend forever. But then I grew up and as I got older I was treated differently, some judged me for the choices I'd made, others over time began to show their true colors. For years I'd heard "Poor Uncle Mullet, he has the worst luck and his mean old wife treats him like dirt," when in reality, the arrests and wrecked vehicles weren't because of his luck, it was because he's an alcoholic and his wife worshipped the ground he walked on, yet he slept with everything coming and going.

It's real hard for me to feel sorry for him.

Anyway, I used to get along with the kinfolk, even attended all the gatherings, never missed a one. Now I just can't. Maybe that makes me a bad person.

Oh well. I think I'm going to get some laundry done, maybe vacuum and wash some dishes. Ya'll have a good one.