Friday, February 20, 2009

Cheap Candy, Satellite Spies, & Facebook Mama

This post originally appeared in the Smith Mountain Eagle on February 20, 2008.

Howdy! Ida B. Peevish coming at you from Ida’s Salon of Beauty & Live Bait Shop in the heart of downtown Rock Bottom, US of A, where my manicurist, Honey Sue Sweetwater, has been swamped with potential customers wanting to partake of her wedding consultant business. She wants me to point out that her time is valuable and she can’t be giving free advice unless you are getting your nails done. When the last coat of polish dries, your consultation time is up unless you are willing to pay extra. She also finds that she is having to repeat herself a lot, so she has compiled a list of her top hints. Here are two of the most popular:
  • If the wedding involves mud-wrestling, white or pastel colors ain’t a good choice for the bride’s dress (and/or coveralls) or those of her bridesmaids (unless she doesn’t like them).
  • A flowing train is likely to either get tangled in the wheels or be grabbed onto by dogs chasing you if you’re riding on the back of your new hubby’s ATV or tractor when you leave the reception. Also, while it looks more elegant to ride “side-saddle,” you are more apt to slip off, so hike up your dress and ride astride. It ain’t like most of your guests ain’t seen bare legs before. When it comes down to elegance or safety, go with safety.

Now lessee what we got in the mail:

Dear Ida B. My boyfriend didn’t get me any good stuff for Valentine’s Day—just a box of candy that had been marked down (and which he ate most of), a bouquet of flowers that I know for a fact he took off a grave at Rock Bottom Cemetery, and some balloons that had “Happy Fortieth Birthday” printed on them. Do you think he is trying to tell me something?—Lovelorn

Dear Loveworn: Yes. He is trying to tell you that he is a cheapskate. If I were you, I’d believe him. I suggest you to come right down to Ida’s Salon of Beauty & Live Bait Shop, where we will give you a classy new look guaranteed to attract a classier type of guy. Of course, any guy will be classier than the one you got now, which I suggest you dump as quickly as possible. Also, we want to hear all the details about how you dumped him. The gossip here lately is going through a dry spell and your contribution will help.

Dear Ida B. I heard there is a bunch of satty-lights circling the earth and taking pictures of I don’t know what all. They say you can get on a computer and look up particular neighborhoods and zoom right in. Now, Ida B., I don’t have one of them computers on account I don’t trust new-fangled stuff and a CB radio is all the communication device I need (especially since I don’t have to run up the light bill to use it and the antenna really spiffs up my truck), but my wife has been acting kinda odd (OK, mad as a wet hen) lately and I was wondering if she might have said something the last time she got her hair done. Do you reckon she might have got onto a computer and saw something that she thinks I might have done and it certainly might look like I done but I can explain if she says she saw it?—Rube

Dear Boob: Do you mean the computer we have down here at Ida’s Salon of Beauty & Live Bait Shop where you wife comes every Wednesday morning for her shampoo and set so she’ll look good for prayer meeting that night? If so, yes, it is possible that she might have seen something, might have remarked about what she saw, might have received sympathy and advice from those of us down here at Ida’s Salon of Beauty & Live Bait Shop, and—as soon as her hair was dry—might have high-tailed it over to the office of my dee-vorce lawyer, Maycomb Philmore Payne, to have a little discussion about your activities. Everybody down here at Ida’s Salon of Beauty & Live Bait Shop is anxious to hear what kind of a good explanation you’ll come up with, and we can’t wait for next Wednesday when she comes back in to tell us. The consensus down here is that you ain’t got a prayer.

Dear Ida B. When my youngest boy went off to college, I wanted to keep up with what he was doing, but I didn’t want him to know that I was snooping. Anyhow, I got me a Facebook page where I pretended to be a hot young thing and he “friended” me and we got to chatting on a regular basis as if I was a hot coed. That’s how come I know about how much he drinks, what parties he goes to, what classes she skips, and how he’s getting Ds instead of the As and Bs he told us he was getting, and all. The problem is that he wants to meet me and for us to start dating. What should I do?—Old enough to be his mother because I am!

Dear Oldie: Well, most of my customers have discussed this at length and say you might tell him what he doesn’t want to hear—namely that you are a 45-year-old guy. That ought to discourage him. However, my manicurist, Honey Sue Sweetwater, says if you don’t want to do that, she will be glad to take over your Facebook Page and even go out with him if he is good-looking and y’all give him a generous allowance. Honey Sue is real thoughtful that way. She is also real experienced at “friending” guys, though she prefers face to face rather than by the book.

Well, that’s it for this go-round. Remember, you get what you pay for, talk is cheap, and my advice is free. If you'd like to pay for it, however, you might buy Peevish Advice or More Peevish Advice.


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