I love this time of year – the new fallen snow, the smell of chimney smoke, the excuse to use the word “yuletide,” and the much-anticipated Christmas letter from my Aunt Faye in Hushpuckena, Mississippi.
Well, Lordy, can you believe that another year has come and gone? There is just so much news that I don’t know where to begin.
I’ll start with the latest: Skeeter has done got engaged! Yep, our little boy told us just last week that he proposed to Lilly Ann McGhehee from Rosedale. Yes, THAT Lilly Ann McGhehee, who’s family owns “McGhehee’s Cum-N-Pet” petting zoo out on Highway 49. Y’all know how Skeeter has always been fond of animals, so it’s no surprise that he and Lilly Ann took such a shine to each other. Her daddy, Clem, is getting on in his days, so I reckon that Skeeter and Lilly Ann will be taking over the pettin’ zoo soon enough. I tell you what, that Skeeter gets all dreamy eyed when he talks about those goats. She’s a real nice girl, Lilly Ann, and real pretty, too, even more so after she had that operation to pin her ears back. They ain’t set a date yet, but Skeeter says it’ll have to be after calving season next year.
I had a l’il mishap last month while I was on the local TV show, “Fishin’ A.M.” I was promotin’ my new cookbook, “First, You Get Your Grease Real Hot,” and was making hush puppies in their tiny studio kitchen when Clarence Evans, the Fishin’ A.M. host, stood too close to the burner and caught his overalls on fire. He was running around the set yelling, “Oooh, hot! Oooh, hot!” ’til one of the cameramen finally threw baking soda on him. It seemed bad at the time, but then somebody put the clip on the Internet and now I been getting more orders than I ever imagined.
And speaking of the Internet, I got a e-letter last week that might just change things for me and Uncle Clyde in a big old way. It’s kind of a long story, but Mr. Immanuel Agyei, some bigwig at the EcoBank Gh Ltd. in Accra-Ghana, West Africa, found a whole bunch of money in a private savings account of somebody that died, and he’s going to up and give it to me and Clyde. And listen here – it’s $14,700,000.00! Lordy, I never seen so many zeros in all my days. Wants to transfer it right into our bank account, too! We don’t even have to go to West Africa, which is good, ’cause Clyde’s hemorrhoids have been giving him fits, and I don’t think he could sit in one of them airplane seats for longer than 20 minutes, 14 million dollars or not.
As soon as I figure out how to Internet him back, I’m gonna give him our bank account number and, well, I guess you’ll have to wait ’til next year’s Christmas letter to find out what we did with all that money! Hee hee …
On a sad note, we had to put down Mr. Tigglewiggle. He was a good dog, but in the last few months he went a little funny. In the end he was just a-bitin’ everything in sight, even me and Clyde. He’d wait at the school bus stop every afternoon and bite each kid as he came off it. He’d gone a little bit blind, too, so no telling what he though he was doin’. Sheriff Huey came out personally to talk to us about it, and danged if Mr. Tigglewiggle didn’t jump up and bite him right on his, well … um, Billy club.
The good news is that Sheriff Huey took Mr. Tigglewiggle out behind the Tuff Shed right away and put him out of his misery, which saved us a vet bill. We sure do miss him. We still have pictures to remember him by, though. And scars.
Y’all have a Merry Christmas, y’hear?
Aunt Faye and Uncle Clyde
Barry Smith’s column is syndicated by Sol Media Syndicate. E-mail comments to this column to firstname.lastname@example.org
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