November 18, 2003
He wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer!
He hated being ignored and he knew she couldn’t respond. He loved it! If she initiated one contact with him, she would violate the bogus protective order and that would put her in front of the judge again. Games! The master of lies and deceit was playing it for all he was worth.
For the eighth time in less than 2 months, here it was…another "gift." No, not one gift, but two gifts, books of Southern writers. Ironic that after seven months of separation and legal wrangling, he was still screaming to his attorney, "I love my wife and I want to come home!" And by God, here was the proof! He got it! She loved books written by Southern Writers. He finally got off his sorry ass and gave her gifts she would adore. Books. These were better than just books! These books authored by Southern women of the 20th century, and those writings reflected her own culture and traditions. Was he just now coming to understand what she was about? Hmmm? While in earnest the books appeared to be a goodwill gesture, she knew there must have been something symbolic about the books. He never did anything without it being symbolic, or meanspirited, or just plain ugly. Never!
Too bad. Earlier he had neither the courage nor genuine interest to understanding the fabric from which true, good, southern women are made. He cared nothing for Dixie girls’ strength, integrity and clarity of mind in word and deed, characteristics, which exist in those ladies… most of the time. That woman, why she put up with him pushing every button she had and then some, every blessed day of her life! Lord, he was a genius at sabotage! Let her have one good idea, one plan, one hope, and damned if he wouldn’t go miles and miles to trip her up. You know, it’s hard when a guy can’t come up with an original idea. Makes him feel less manly, less needed, she reckoned. He despised the fact that she lived life with good purpose. The woman was ignored, treated indifferently and bereft of the love of a decent man. He was a poor husband, indeed.
Although she held to her promise of fidelity, the "til death us do part" business, got old. It was his intent and hope to watch her physically die little by little while he reaped the benefit of her passing. But the fool underestimated her perseverance and will to live a deliberate, good life, with or without him. Then the time came he was in her presence no longer. It was of his own doing and misdeeds that took him away. Only then did he truly begin to understand the woman he’d lived with for years. But it just didn’t matter. What he really understood was this: the ride was over and it was killing him!.
Unfortunately, he’d misunderstood her for he thought she was soft, forgiving and stupid beyond belief. He was wrong! He misjudged her sheer tenacity to hold a grudge for his mistreatment. She held that grudge close the way a bulldog cherishes an old soup bone. How could he have known her Appalchian upbringing, her hillbilly tradition was her strength? Too self-centered, too self-focused to see beyond himself, he was. It was always about him and when the light bulb finally went on in his pea-brain, damn, boy! It was too late!
So, darlings, my advise to you, you old, cussed Southern hound dogs is simply this: Southern Belles...don’t cross ‘em, don’t deceive ‘em and don’t humiliate ‘em, or YOU, you sorry individual, will live to rue the day you ever met that broad. Glory be! It appears for that man, the day has come! And she does believe with all her heart, he "doth see the light!"
And the woman said, "thank you for the gifts, sweet cheeks…but alas, too little, too late!"
Everybody, sing!
Happy Birthday to me,
Happy Birthday to me,
Happy Birthday to meee-eeeee,
Happy Birthday to me!!