...And a Half!

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for candles and a fire extinguisher

Remember when you were a kid and you were asked how old you were?  If you were very young you might hold up two fingers or three.  Later you would proudly say that you were five and a half.  As you got older you would announce to the entire world that you were twelve going on thirteen.  Your sixteenth birthday may have found you driving, legally.  And at eighteen you were old enough to quit school, marry and/or move out on your own if you were dumb enough to do so.  

Twenty was a bit awkward for most people.  You were no longer a teenager and not old enough to vote but you were old enough to marry so I did.  Approaching the “Don’t trust anyone over thirty” birthday was no big deal because most of us didn’t trust anyone anyway.    My fortieth and fiftieth birthdays were barely acknowledged amidst the birthdays and graduations of six children.

My sixtieth birthday found me retiring from the school where I had taught for 37 years and going to a new school because of (shock of all shocks) Social Security.  It seemed I needed the benefits of my husband’s social security so I had to retire to be rehired. When did the need for social security sneak up on me? Then, just as I was getting semi-comfortable with the concept of Senior Citizen, I was surprised with “Congratulations! You are now the mother of a one day old and a three year old.  Children say hello to your Medicare Mom.” 

Is it no wonder that during this decade of my life only those with a death wish would ask my age and only those who survived to tell their friends would have any inkling of what I said.

The days of telling my age on the fingers of one hand have long gone.  Heck telling my age on my fingers and toes plus the fingers and toes of all my children have been gone a long time.  However, I have adopted the mental age reference of a five year old.

 I am now something-something and a half.  In a few months I will be something-something and three-quarters.  By fall I will be something-something and five-sixths.  By late fall I will be something-something and eleven twelfths. 

By January of next year I will have reached the age of “Shut your mouth before I max out the credit cards, bankrupt social security, apply for a reverse mortgage on the double wide, and move in with you…in Arkansas.”

Like Maxine, I have survived the Stone Age, the Ice Age, the Bronze Age, the Tween-Age, the Teen Age, the New Age, the Hot Flash Age, and the Age of Accountability.

And by all accounts I have now reached Old Age.

 Better have the fire extinguisher ready for my next birthday cake.  It’s going to get HOT!

My Mama Didn't Raise No Fool

As told to Jody Worsham by Cousin Betty Sue

All rights reserved for padlock for  ID

Cousin Betty Sue ( that's Aunt Earletta's great niece by her first marriage) sent me this letter last week.

"Dear Cousin, 

I received an e-mail the other day announcing that my e-mail ID had won the Microsoft Lottery.  All I had to do was supply them with all my personal information and a small processing fee and my check for $1,000,000 would be in the mail.  I was not about to fall for that scam so I wrote them a firm letter.  Here’s what I said.

Dear Abbabaabb Ramikin, President of the Mercantile Bank and Mis-Trust of  Umbasi,

Thank you for letting me know I won the Micresoft Lottery but I think I should tell you that you misspelled Microsoft.  It is MicrOsoft , not MicrEsoft.  I don’t think the Macintosh boys would appreciate that. 

Now just let me tell you up front that my Mama, Cora Lee Robertson Smith, didn’t raise no fool in Pudluck, Arkansas when I was born there on January 30, 1979 at the Saints Preserve Us Methodist Hospital.  She warned me about scams like this.  That is why when I e-mailed you my social security number, I changed the last number. 

As far as the $150 you need to ship my money, I’m not giving you my credit card number either because I don’t have one even though every credit card in America has approved me for one.  Anybody at the Farmers Bank or Bust will tell you that I always pay by check or cash.  My checks are numbered and they know that the last one I wrote was number 2053.  They put a security number at the bottom…007-2013...so nobody would know which bank I use.  You will either accept my cash or nothing at all.

And I’m not falling for that old “check’s in the mail” ploy either.  You can just deliver my money right to my door at 1838 Knutt Avenue, Pudluck, Arkansas 000859 if you are really for real.  
Call me at 009-343-2211 and let me know it is on the way. If I am not home, I am probably at the blood bank donating my AB negative type blood like I do every six months, but my husband Robert Earl or any of our three children, Flora, Dora, or Cora can sign for it.

Until I hear from you, you are not getting any of my personal ID information.

Sincerely,

Betty Sue Smith Mobley

Now you be careful if you get any e-mails from some e-male telling you you done won a lottery.

I guess I showed that scam artist that Mama didn’t raise no fool.  And what Mama didn’t do, Daddy did! 

Love,
Cousin Betty Sue"

Twister Crime

By Jody Worsham
All rights reserved for bail.

I am, by all accounts, an honest law abiding person; but last night during the Festival of Tornadoes, I knowingly and willing committed a crime.

I was at Longview High School at the one-act play competition, which really isn’t a one-act play competition because nobody does one-acts, just 40 minutes from a longer play. The last play had finished and the winners were announced. The judge had just finished critiquing the first play when the Longview host came in and said we all had to get to an interior room because the tornado sirens were going off. Well, that auditorium emptied faster than a Sunday service when the Cowboys kicked-off at noon.

The interior choir room was too full, so the company I was following was sent to the back of the auditorium to huddle behind a half brick wall where the spotlight sits. The cast members were crammed together so tightly that I think everybody now has a date for the prom.

If you are from Texas, you know nothing stops a Texas UIL contest except a direct hit. As the tornado spotted was a good 13 miles away, we continued. The judge who was judging the not-really –one-act play contest went right on telling the kids what they did that was good and what they needed to work on. The kids were peering over that half brick wall at the judge listening to every word. They looked like those little hermit crabs peeping out of a shell. All you could see where their eye-balls. After about ten minutes, the contest manager took the judge in search of the other play companies.

We didn’t know what to do next. We knew a tornado was close by cause our ears were popping; plus a boy that didn’t have an Afro haircut a few minutes ago, had one now. We hadn’t heard the all clear sound so it was possible the tornado warning system had already been taken out.

And that’s when I knowingly and willingly committed a passionate crime.

On tax payer funded public school property, I lead the group in prayer. I don’t mean one of those moments of silence type things; I mean an all-out call to the Lord at the top of my voice. I know. I know. What was I thinking? I'll tell you what I was thinking. I was thinking a Texas tornado can suck you up in East Texas and spit you out in Arkansas; where, if you wake up, you’ll think you’ve died and gone to Hell. Jail time was preferable over landing in Arkansas.

The tornado tuckered out before it got to us. By 10:00 the wind had died down enough for me to head for home. I guess jail time will be in store for me next. I’ll just sit on the front porch with the light on and wait for Dog the Bounty Hunter to show up. Don’t want him breaking down any doors unnecessarily.