So I walked into this women’s meeting the other night and said, “Hi y’all” and this person who I can’t stand said, “That sounded like me!” This is because she is from the Holy State of Texas. (but lives in Ohio) I said, “I am from Arkansas.”
“Oh, is that the South now?”
[Well, isn’t it? I always thought it was. I always thought that my relatives, with there very southern accents, were actually living in the South.)
Oh, I guess only she knows what it is like to be from the South. Even though I have lived in Arkansas, Louisiana, Alabama, Texas, Virginia, North Carolina, and Texas again, in that order. [leaving out Maryland, which happened in between Alabama and Texas, and of course Ohio where I live now.] Yes, I’ve actually lived in Texas!! But she is the only person that can say she’s from the South and have any validity.
This is because the entire meeting always revolves around her.
Once she was sitting next to my mother-in-law at one of these meetings. She spent much time talking about her EX-mother-in-law (named Jane) who she had just moved to a nursing home or something. Meanwhile, my mother-in-law had just BURIED her oldest child, her daughter, named Jane. Seriously, four days before had been Jane’s funeral. But we couldn’t get this woman to stop talking about her small tiny little existence.
I can’t stand her.
When her husband did something very mean to her at Christmas-time (he went to see his mother–alone) I thought, “Well, he just probably needed to get the hell away from her and her mouth for a few shorts days of bliss.”
Her story is always better, her experience is always more-so, than everyone else’s. I usually just stare at her and wait for her mouth to stop moving. It happens but rarely.