Morty Loves Stella

Walker and I had a lovely Valentine's Day.  We were driving back from St. Petersburg, Florida where we had spent the week on the beach with his sister and her husband.  It was just what the doctor ordered. I've been feeling really really tired lately.  Sitting on the balcony of the condo just watching the water and the people walking on the beach was very therapeutic. People watching has always been one of my favorite spectator sports.

Beach people are so much fun to watch.  The wind was really whipping when out trudged "Morty".  Poor Morty was carrying a cooler, a huge beach umbrella, two short-legged folding chairs and himself. He had a job ahead of him!  Poor Morty struggled for thirty minutes to get that umbrella stood up in that sand.  It kept blowing away and he kept chasing it down the beach until, bless his heart, he gave up.  He decided to lay the opened umbrella on its side.  He secured it with the cooler.  There! He had a wind shield. He set up the two chairs and weighted one down with all kinds of assorted beach stuff.  Then he set up his chair and carefully held on to it while he very gingerly turned his three hundred pounds around and lowered himself down into the chair. He did it!  Yea!  I wanted to holler, "Way to go, Morty!" from the balcony.  Then I saw "Stella" approaching Morty from behind. She wasn't carrying anything... Will she approve of Morty's engineering?  Will she complain that he didn't do it right?  I was so relieved!  Little fat Stella hugged big fat Morty.  He cleared off her chair, she maneuvered into it.  He opened the cooler, took out a beer, poured it into a cup and gave it to her.  She kissed him....  I was about to cry.  This is why all the Yankees retire in Florida, because life is good where the sun is warm...

Are you moldy too?

Dear Gentle Readers,

I think I am going to mold!!!  This wet rainy weather is draining the life out of me, all I want to do is sleep...ZZZ...ZZZ...ZZZ...ZZZ....  Being a writer is a tricky business.  I have a million stories in my head.  Some of them are true and some are made up.  The tricky part is just sitting down and putting them on paper. We all have a million stories in our heads. We all have things we experienced that we want to share. We all have feelings that we want to express.  We are all writers.  The only difference between a "real writer" and everybody else is that a "real writer" just takes the time to put his thoughts down on paper.  I think the reason most people don't do that is because they think writing is supposed to be some kind of high and lofty endeavor. It absolutely should not be high and lofty unless YOU are high and lofty.  Some of the "best" writers of all time are extremely hard to read and hard to understand. So why does that make them "the best"?  Maybe we think, "Boy he must be really deep, way too smart for me! He must be a great writer!"  If I have to read every sentence three or four times to figure out what the writer is trying to say, I toss the book! Writing is about communication.  If the writer is only concerned about sounding scholarly, then it may be that he is not really communicating what he wants the reader to learn.

Your writing should sound like you.  You should not try to sound like William Faulkner because you are not William Faulkner.  Just write like you think.  Write like you talk. Don't try to be some one on paper that you are not in real life. If you do try to "put on airs" in your writing you will come off  sounding foolish.  Just be yourself.  People love you just the way you are.  And they will love your writing if you just sound like yourself.

It is a New Year.  And because it is raining and gray and dreary outside, I feel lazy. Nope.  I am not in the creative mood, so I am going to share some of my favorite quotes with you.  All of these people wrote in such a way that we connect immediately with what they are trying to say. So enjoy these my friend, and then go write something that sounds like YOU and nobody else!

"Everyday of our lives we make deposits in the memory banks of our children." Charles Swindoll

"Kind words can be short and easy to speak, but their echoes are truly endless" Mother Teresa

"The greatest motivational act that one person can do for another is to listen." Roy Moody

"Make failure your teacher, not your undertaker."  Zig Ziglar

"You must do the thing you think you cannot do."  Eleanor Roosevelt

"I never saw a pessimistic general win a battle."  Dwight D. Eisenhower

"Experience is a hard teacher because she gives the test first, the lessons afterward."   Vernon Law

"The reward of a thing well done is to have done it." Ralph Waldo Emerson

"If we did all the things we were capable of doing, we would literally astonish ourselves."  Thomas Edison

"Kindness is the noblest of weapons to conquer with."  Unknown

"There is no such thing in anybody's life as an unimportant day."  Alexander Woolcott

"The best things in life aren't things."  Art Buchwald

"The quality of a person's life is in direct proportion to their commitment to excellence." Vincent T. Lombardi

"The greatest use of life is to spend it for something that will outlast it."  William James

"The secret to getting ahead is getting started."  Unknown

"No one knows what he can do until he tries."  Publilius Syrus

"One hundred per cent of the shots you don't take don't go in."  Wayne Gretsky

"Life is like riding a bicycle.  To keep your balance you must keep moving."  Albert Einstein

And so you see this is great writing. Short. Simple. It packs a punch that could change your life. And on that note I am going to get up and keep moving as Mr. Einstein suggested. Happy New Year to all of you writers. It is time to just pull those thoughts out of your head and put them down on paper!!!

Love and Kisses to all and to all a good write....
Suzan with a "Z"

Hide Me Quick! A Christmas Story...

Some men have it.  Some men don't.  Sex appeal.  Have you ever noticed that when you go to a Christmas party there is always one fellow that the women are just naturally drawn to?  He might be fat.  He might be bald.  But, he's got it!  He is surrounded by laughing, giggling women that keep bringing him drinks and letting him nibble off their plates.  He never has to stand in line to get his food,  Miss Tight Sweater is bringing it to him. 

Has he got a billion dollars in his bank account?  Well.... he might...  but, it might just be that he knows what women love to hear.  Somebody once said that men love with their eyes, but women love with their ears.  And what is it that women love to hear?  "Wow!  I love that dress!  You look good enough to make a bulldog break his chain!"  Yep.  As much as I hate to admit it, it works for me!

Some men can say that to a woman and she is putty in his hands.  Other men can say the same thing and end up with the woman thinking, "He is disgusting!!!! "  It all depends on whether or not the man just naturally has "it".  And my daddy had "it".  He had a way of making the most homely wall flower feel attractive, and, like I said, women love with their ears....  Well, when I was a little girl seven years old, my daddy made the mistake of telling one particularly homely lady that she put Marilyn Monroe in the shade.  Bad mistake.  Nowadays, I guess you can't say somebody is fat and ugly, you have to say they are weight and beauty "challenged".  I go along with whoever said, "Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes slam to the bone!" 

 But, getting back to my story.  It was Christmas Eve 1963.  I was the youngest of six children.  My two oldest sisters were married and moved away.  That particular Christmas Eve found Mama, Daddy my three teenaged siblings and me all at home. Mama told me to go on to bed because everybody knows that you have to be asleep for Santa Claus to come.  So I hugged everybody good night and went on to bed.  Of course I wasn't about to go to sleep.  I was straining my ears to see if I could hear any reindeer hooves on the roof.  I didn't hear any reindeer, but what I did hear  was my brother John say, "Daddy, there's a lady out in the front yard hollering your name!"  I could hear my mother say, "Roy!  That's Mrs. Green!  I think she must be drunk!"

 About that time Daddy came busting into my bedroom with a terrified look on his face.  "Suzy!  Hide me quick!"  I didn't know what was going on, but I could hear Mama and my brothers and sister laughing.  I held up my bed covers and Daddy dove under down to the foot of my bed. About that time Mrs. Green, who was not only fat and ugly, but drunk as Cootie Brown, came busting into my bedroom with Mama and all the gang right behind her. Mrs. Green flipped on the light switch and hollered, "Where is that handsome devil?  I want my Merry Christmas kiss!!!"  I held the covers tight up under my chin, but it was a dead give away.  That big lump down at the end of my bed was Daddy!

"There you are!"  Mrs. Green squealed with delight as she yanked the covers back and discovered Daddy squashed up in a ball as small as he could make himself.  I, at that point, was jumping up and down on the bed and saying, "There he is! You found him!"  And at that Mrs. Green grabbed Daddy up and gave him a big old smackaroo right on the mouth. Well, there is no use even trying to describe what poor Daddy looked like. His arms were hanging limply by his side and he just squinched his eyes closed tight like he was about to be given a dose of castor oil. After she had laid one on him, Mrs. Green turned and said to my mother, "Your husband thinks I look better than Marilyn Monroe! He told me so!"  My mother just laughed and said, "I believe you."  Then Mrs. Green sashayed out the front door.

 Of course that was one Christmas Eve that I'll never forget. And did that cure Daddy from being a terrible flirt?  Heck no!  When he was eighty-eight years old I got a call from the assisted living facility where he was living.  The director said Daddy had chased a young nurse into the kitchen and she had jumped up on the counter to get away from him.  He was driving in a scooter chair!  Oh well, I guess she just looked good enough to make a bulldog break his chain!


This Christmas give her what she wants the most.  Take her in your arms. Kiss her. And tell her she is beautiful......

She whupped a healing on her!

  Dear Gentle Reader,

I'm sharing with you another bit of my book, "Dear Girlfriend- A Handheld Walk Through Breast Cancer".  

When you have finished reading, PLEASE leave me a comment.  Just look for "Comment" or "No Comment" at the end, click on it then sign on as Anonymous if you want, then leave me some feedback.  I really need it and thank you so much for it!!!

She whupped a healing on her!

Dear Girlfriend.

As I've said before, my mother lives in an assisted living home. I usually drive to Columbus twice a week to see her. Well, before I went into the hospital, I told the director of the home and a couple of Mama's favorite caregivers that I had cancer and was about to go in the for surgery. I remember telling this one particular caregiver, I'll call Sally, that I was going into the hospital and I might not be able to see Mama for a few days. She hugged me and said that she would pray for me.

Now I have a sister, Cea, that is twelve years older than I am. We look very much alike except that Cea is older. So I had my surgery and staph infection and immediately went back to visit Mama, but I just didn't run into Sally for two or three weeks. She must have been working on the night shift. So in the meanwhile my sister, Cea, came from Virginia to visit Mama. Sally ran into Cea in the hall of the home and thought Cea was me. She got a horrified look on her face as much to say, “I can sure tell you've been sick! You've aged ten years in the past few weeks!” Then she took Cea in her arms and she said, “Oh I need to pray for you! Dear Lord bless this woman and make her well! Heal her Lord! Heal her!Hold her up through her times of suffering! Bless her sweet Lord! Bless this poor woman!”

Cea knew that Sally thought she was me, but she didn't want to interrupt such fine praying and she didn't want to embarrass Sally. So Cea just let Sally whup a healing on her and she thanked Sally very much. Then Cea called me on the phone and told me what happened. We just cracked up. I said, “Why didn't you tell her you were not me?” Cea said, “Are you kidding? I need all the prayers I can get!” So a couple of more weeks went by and I ran into Sally at the assisted living home. When she saw me I said, “Sally, thank you so much for your prayers. I feel good.” Sally was grinning from ear to ear and said, “I can tell you feel better. You are sure looking better than the last time I saw you!”

He was jumping around like a monkey!

Dear Gentle Readers,

Today's post is one of the funny chapters from my book, "Dear Girlfriend- A Handheld Walk Through Breast Cancer".  This shows that even though I had cancer, I was still Suzan. Cancer could not steal my funny memories....

Dear Girlfriend,

When we first met in January of 1974, we were seniors in high school. When my mama and daddy met in 1938, they were in high school. That was the day of big band music. Every weekend my parents would go to a big pavilion in Columbus called The Idle Hour, where they would jitterbug the night away. Even though their relationship was rocky from day one, when he held her in his arms on a dance floor they had chemistry. They won dance contest after dance contest.

The whole time I was growing up all of my brothers and sisters loved to dance. We had a stereo in the living room. My sisters who were ten to fourteen years older than I, would turn on Chubby Checker and dance. When I was only five years old my sister took a home movie of me doing the peppermint twist. It was not unusual for one of my teenage sisters and her boyfriend to be slow dancing in the living room while I watched.

My mother always danced while she stirred gravy. Her hand holding the spoon would be going around while her shoulders and hips swayed to the music. I remember once in the 1960's after she and daddy had separated , she was just stirring that gravy while singing along with the radio to I Can't Get No Satisfaction. So when Walker asked me to go to the prom in 1974, I expected him to dance. I was all dressed up in a red ironclad polyester formal . He had rented a tux with a ruffled shirt and had pulled his shoulder length hair back and tied it in a ponytail with a black velvet ribbon. We were styling!But when we got to the dance I was so disappointed that my handsome prince would not dance.

We married in 1976 when disco was all the rage. In the late seventies, John Travolta was busy ruining his back in “Saturday Night Fever.” Wasn't he a hottie?! Walker and I at that time were living in Athens, Georgia, and going to the University of Georgia. To say we were living on a shoe string would be too generous. Let's say we were living on some scraggly little fuzz that hangs off a shoe string after its been in the tennis shoe about ten years. We were so broke Walker actually handmade our wedding invitations and delivered them on a bicycle to save the money for postage stamps. So, for us to actually go out to a disco was a big deal. Waitresses hated us because we would buy one beer and nurse it all night.

But, it was my birthday so we decided to go out. We went to a disco in downtown Athens that had a cover charge. After paying the cover we really only had money left for one drink. Now you have to remember that this was 1976. At that time in Athens, Georgia, black kids and white kids went to class together, but partied at different locations. Thank God we are past those days. So we paid our cover and when we got inside we realized that we were the only white people in the place. That didn't bother us and none of the black kids seemed to notice we were there, so we sat down and ordered our beers. When the waitress brought them Walker hollered in my ear over the loud music, “Drink it slow!” I longingly watched the other kids dance as he crumpled up little pieces of his napkin and put them in his ears. Everywhere there was sparkly light reflecting out of a large mirrored ball that hung over the dance floor. Walker and I just sat and sipped our beers and watched all those fellows in platform shoes get down.

There was a big long box about four feet high and twelve feet long out in the middle of the dance floor. It was covered in bright green shag carpet and had steps that you could walk up to be elevated so everyone could focus on the really good dancers up on this platform.“Wow!!! They can really dance!!! Look at their clothes!!!” I yelled in Walker's ear. “I'd rather die than get up on that thing!!!” he yelled back. “I'm going to the bathroom!!!” I hollered back and he nodded.

Now you know what the ladies room in a bar is like. All the girls have got a little buzz on and they all laugh and talk to each other even if they are total strangers. I told that to Walker once and he said, “Nobody talks in the men's room. We just do our doings and get out of there.” But as I stood in line waiting for a stall to come open, a group of six rather rotund girls came in behind me. They were all laughing and talking and having a good time. One of them said, “How come y'all aren't dancing? Don't you like the music?” I said, “Oh,we love the music, but I can't get my husband to dance . He never dances with me.” One of the girls that had a pretty major buzz, put her arm around my shoulder like we were long time friends. She started rocking her head from side to side and said ,“Girlfriend,we can sure fix that!” The other five girls all started laughing and giving each other the high five. “Honey, you just wait for us at the table, but don't you let on to your husband!”

So I just went back and sat down and sipped my drink. In a minute I saw the six girls headed straight for our table. They were laughing and giggling when the one I had talked to in the bathroom put her hand on Walker's shoulder and said, “Come dance with us!” Walker looked like he was about to faint as they all six pulled him up out of his chair and literally dragged him up the steps of the green shag carpeted platform. He turned and looked at me with the look of a condemned man being drug up the steps of a scaffold. I, of coarse, was enjoying every minute of this.

The six girls formed two lines and proceeded to bump Walker back and forth between them with their hips as the disco music blared out of the huge speakers so loudly that Walker stuck his fingers in his ears. He was as stiff as an old man with arthritis! He looked so pitiful until they all started pushing him back and forth amongst them while they were putting the bump and grind down on him. The D.J. started playing Disco Inferno by The Trammps. I was just cracking up! The music was blaring out so loudly that you could see the speakers vibrating. About that time I saw Walker was clapping his hands and jumping around like a monkey! He was bumping and jumping and winding and grinding while all six of those rather healthy looking girls worked him over real good. They had somehow flipped his switch! When the song was over he actually looked disappointed as they took him by the hand and brought him back to our table. We were all laughing so hard we could hardly breathe. Then the ringleader of the girls put her hands on her hips, rocked her head from side to side, pushed Walker towards me and said, “Honey, we fixed him good!”

I owe an awful lot to those six girls because after that night Walker became a dancing fool. One time in the 1980's we went to a New Year's Eve party at the Columbus Country Club. I looked around and there was Walker doing the funky chicken with my brother-in-law. When Walker went back to work at the Georgia Forestry Commission on Monday, a man who had seen him dancing at the club told all the men that Walker supervised, “Boys, I hate to break it to you, but I saw your boss down at the Columbus Country Club dancing like a chicken with another man!” All the fellas said, “Boss man! Tell us it ain't so!”

I remember the last big New Year's Eve party we hosted . Walker was wearing what was supposed to be a toga but it came off looking more like Ebenezer Scrooge's nightgown. He had a wreath on his head made of gold laurel leaves. My nephew Todd and I were sitting together on the staircase as Walker was trying to jitterbug with my niece, Susan. He was pretty lit up and every time he twirled her around, he did it so fast and hard I was afraid he was going to throw her out the window. I said to Todd, “Now that is something I will remember the rest of my life.” Todd just looked at me, shook his head and said, “That's too scary to think about!” See, I keep telling you these little flashbacks from my life so that you will believe me that cancer can't steal your memories. It can't steal your stories.

Girlfriend advice: Keep on dancing! Drag your husband into the living room, put on your favorite music and dance. When you are all alone at home and the fear of the future starts to overwhelm you, turn up your music as loud as you can and dance and dance until you drop. It will make you feel so much better. If you can hardly put one foot in front of the other from radiation or chemotherapy, when you feel your worst, start as slowly as you need to but do it! You won't believe how much better you will feel.

When we got back to the cottage long after midnight on that New Year's Eve of 2009, I felt so happy. I had such high hopes for 2010. I built a fire in my little fireplace and snuggled up in a soft blanket with my hot chocolate and I thought about how my life was going to be so much better than at had been in 2009. Thank God we can't see too far down the road....

Miley's booty- Part 2

Dear Gentle Readers,

So what was I to do? The answer came to me immediately. Get her out of this house! I just stood there holding the coffee pot while Michelle held Bébé up to her face, covered her with smoochy kisses and said “Oui! Oui! You are such a sweet Bébé!” Walker was sitting there staring at her and I imagine he was thinking, “I sure wish I was that Bébé!

I just put down the coffee pot, took Bébé from her arms and gave her the old “southern simpleton” look. That is a look of sheer and total innocence. It is a look of sweetness and blankness. It is the look that says “I haven't got a clue what you are up to” but honey, let me tell you, behind that look of idiocy on my face I was planning my battle tactics!

She knew she was feeling a breeze under that T-shirt! That (not so) little fanny flash at my husband was no accident! She just hadn't planned for me to see it, too. Ah ha! I knew she thought I didn't see what had happened. I said, “Michelle, Macon is lovely, but how would you like to see Washington D.C.?”

“Oh oui! I'd love to see Washington, but I have no way to get there.”

“I'll drive you.”

Walker said, “That's a thirteen hour drive............are you sure?”

I gave him a not-so-simpleton look, a look that said “If you don't shut up this very second you are going to have a pot of hot coffee up your nose.”

He shut up.

In the next six minutes I arranged to drive Michelle and Bébé to my sister's house in Manassas, Virginia, right outside of Washington, D.C. My sister is the most hospitable southern bell you will ever meet. At that time she had a husband and three young teenage sons. I just told her I was bringing a sweet young French girl to visit and would they take her around in Washington? She readily agreed. I left out the part about which town she came from in France (the one where girls where no pants!).

It was a long but immensely rewarding thirteen hour drive to Virginia. Along the way, I started wondering if I should have just dumped her in Atlanta, but no........that was too close to my husband!

When we arrived in Virginia, my sister, her husband and three sons were so excited to meet Michelle. The next day the boys took her on the Metro to Washington. When they got back the whole gang was sitting around the kitchen table. My sister asked Michelle, “What did you think of Washington?”

“It was beautiful! Oui!”

“Well, what do you think of Americans in general, I mean?”

“Oh! They are all fat and so unattractive.”

All of us at the table just looked at each other, flabbergasted by her response. And of course, each of us was thinking “of course she didn't mean me!”

Then my sister said, “You mean you have not seen one attractive person in America?”

“Oui, they are all either fat or ugly. I saw women, many women, in Washington that had stomachs shaped like the capital dome.” We all sucked in our guts.

After supper my sister pulled me aside and said, “Do you know anybody else that might let her visit them?”

“I have some friends in New York City...............” We high-fived each other. I called my New York friends and they arranged all her travel plans for a wonderful guided tour of the city. “Goodbye, please!”

Years later one of my nephews told Walker “You remember that French girl that came with Aunt Suzan to our house in Manassas?”

“How could I forget her?”

“That was the best present I ever got from Aunt Suzan. I was in middle school at the time. I remember Michelle didn't close the bathroom door all the way. She was standing at the sink, brushing her teeth, with no shirt on! I was laying in the bed in my room with a clear view down the hall, just watching her. It was the first truly enjoyable physics lesson I ever had. She was a vigorous brusher and when she would charge right with the toothbrush, the lovelies would swing hard to the left. Then she'd give an equal thrust to the left teeth and here they'd come, flying back to the right. She evidently believed in long, thorough brushes and it was enough to make me dizzy! I know there are those out there who might think it left me scarred for life, but actually, it made me quite hopeful for the future!”

And to tell you the truth, Michelle must have really impressed my nephew because he ended up marrying a girl that looks very, very much like her.

And me? After I packed Michelle off to New York City I put Bébé Laurel in the car seat, looked in the rear view mirror and said with the “southern simpleton” on my face, “Who me? I would never be inhospitable to a visitor!”

And the Bébé and I drove oui, oui, oui, all the way home.

Oh, and Miley Cyrus, let me give you a bit of advice that every good southern mother gives her daughter: You start being sexy when you stop trying to be!

IF YOU ENJOYED THIS, PLEASE SHARE THIS LINK WITH ALL OF YOUR CONTACTS, FAMILY AND FRIENDS ON FACEBOOK, E-MAIL OR OTHER SOCIAL MEDIA!  THANKS FOR  HELPING ME SPREAD THE WORD!!!!!!!!!!

Miley's booty ain't the first to shake...........

Reading all the uproar over Miley Cyrus' bottom made me laugh. Booties have been shakin' around as long as there's been booties to shake, much to the disapproval of non-shakin' women, much to the approval of bootie lovin' men. When my husband, Walker, and I, were in our early thirties, we were in an international friendship club. We would host a guest from another country and then we were supposed to go visit that guest at their home. The problem was that we never had the money to go visit our guests in their countries. And, we had Baby Laurel, less than a year old.

It was the summer of 1989 when Walker and I drove up to the Atlanta airport to pick up our guest from France. In those days you could still go far enough into the airport to watch the passengers walk out of the plane, down some steps and across the tarmac and on into the airport. All we knew was that we were to pick up “Michelle” a young French girl in her early twenties.

“She wrote that she would be holding up one of those little French flags on a stick!” I hollered over the noise of the people and the planes. I adjusted the sweaty, sticky bundle of baby that was sliding off my extended hip. Motherhood had left me feeling rather unattractive lately. I was always covered in some ooey-gooey glop of one sort or another. Now underneath that glop I was still a hottie, but the problem was I very seldom seemed to get enough baths to get off enough goo to expose the hottie level. Baby Laurel would not take a pacifier . She preferred to gnaw on my chin. Wise women told me she was just teething and not to worry about it. It was all very natural. But why does natural have to be so wet? I tried to break her from sucking on my chin because it sent torrents of warm baby slobber that smelled like her “natural” formula made from goat milk running down my hot neck. They don't tell you this before you get the baby...

So Laurel was just gnawing away on my chin and slobberizing my face and neck when I looked up and saw “Michelle” sashaying down the airplane steps. Oui. Oui. Oui. “Oh {bad word}!!!” I uttered under my breath. She looked like a runway model from Paris. Walker lit up like a Christmas tree. “There she is! Wow!!! She's a looker!!!” I gave him a look that wiped that smile off his face but fast. “Well, I mean...she's looking for us...” He started waving his arms around like a drowning man and yelling, “Michelle! Michelle!” Just at that moment Baby's diaper sprang a leak and I could feel something warm running down my leg... I was still using cloth diapers because I was trying to save the earth. At that moment I decided to start using Pampers.

Michelle came bouncing up all smiles and sweetness. Ooh la la... She hugged Walker and kissed him on each cheek. Then she blew kisses in my general direction. “Well, I'm Walker and this is my wife....”

“SUZAN. My name is SUZAN,” I reminded him.

So we trudged out to our little compact car and went through all the gyrations of getting the baby in the car seat and Michelle's enormous amount of luggage in the trunk. “I thought she was only staying two weeks,” I whispered to Walker. “Maybe she decided to stay all summer,” he said with a big grin. So, we all got in the car, Walker driving, Michelle in the front passenger seat and me crammed in the back with suitcases falling on Baby Goat's head while she screamed her lungs out.

We got on down the highway and Walker asked, “What's that smell?”

“Chanel No.5,” “Goats,” Michelle and I answered simultaneously.

I had to let my back window down to get the smell out. The hot wind blew my hair onto my face where it stuck to the drool. I was a sight. All the merry while Walker and Michelle chatted away. Oui. Oui. Oui. “We are going to take you to a pool party this afternoon,” he told her.

“Oh how lovely! I bought a new swim suit! It has a top!”

At that moment Walker let our car go over into the other lane. I guess I shouldn't have kicked the back of his seat so hard. Some guy laid on the horn and shot an impolite gesture at Walker as he sped around us. “My sentiments exactly, Mister!” I thought.

We made it back to Macon and Michelle was so lovely. She was absolutely so polite that I couldn't say a thing against her. How could I be jealous of this precious young girl? After all, she brought me French perfume and she brought Walker an expensive bottle of French wine. She brought a Madeline dolly for Baby Laurel. So, ooh la la, it was off to the pool party. All the young mothers gathered in the shallow end of the pool. We were all bouncing our wee ones up and down in the water while all the hubbies were grilling and drinking beer.

“We brought our new friendship club girl with us. She's a real sweet girl. I know y'all are going to like her!” I said with my back toward Michelle who was walking out of the pool house wearing a black, string bikini . “I don't think I like her at all!” one of my girlfriends said. I turned around to see Michelle surrounded by Walker and all the other fellas. The boys were all laughing and having a grand old time. “Run for cover girls!!!” All of the mothers jumped out of the pool and ran for the terry cloth!

That night back at our house Walker and I put Baby to bed and sat up visiting and drinking the French wine with Michelle. I had to count the dunk in the pool as a bath and doused myself with Chanel No.5. She really was an adorable girl. What was I worried about? I could still turn a head or two myself. When he came to bed Walker said, “Why did you put Michelle in the downstairs by the kitchen? That's not the pretty room.”

“Shut up Walker.” He shut up.

The next morning I hopped out of bed and ran to take a shower while everyone else was still asleep. Walker got Baby Laurel up and took her downstairs to play on the floor of the dining room. Then I came down to make coffee while Michelle got up and took a shower. What a sweet picture the three of us made. Young mother filling the baby's bottle... Young father sitting at the table reading the funny paper... Darling baby playing with blocks on the floor... Life was all that it should be. Then our darling house guest appeared wearing a T-shirt with no bra. She was drying her wet hair with a towel. Her shapely long tanned legs went down down down to her lovely little pink toenails that were polished to perfection. And then it happened. She bent over to pick Baby up from the floor and I heard Walker choking on his coffee. I turned to ask, “Are you okay?” just as I heard and saw Michelle bending over and picking up the “Beautiful Bébé!!!” and then I knew. I had no doubt. Michelle was from the place in France where the girls wear no underpants and the dance they do is the Hoochie Coochie Coo!”

Stay turned for part two. Ooh la la!!!!!!!