Mother-in-laws are creatures the same as we all are. I have one, more’s the pity, an’ most everyone has one unless you get lucky and marry a girl whose mother has passed on to that hell we eventually wished they would sooner or later all go.
You get the drift how I feel about mine already, don’t you? I didn’t at first, you know, because I was dating her daughter, Sandy. Sandy was kind of cute and I thought pretty damned nice. She had some nice parts that looked pretty nice too.
I dated Sandy a few times an’ the more times we dated out, the more I wanted to sample those nice parts. I wasn’t havin’ any luck ‘cause mama-Lillian said Sandy shouldn’t give out samples before marriage. I really wanted to test those samples bad---real bad. I was hoping I wasn’t making a mistake, but you guessed it, I proposed.
I should have had an inkling of what was to come, when mama-Lillian introduced me to her neighbor as Jahmes Smith. My name is Jack Smith. Where the hell did she get that Jahmes from? We kind of went head to head. I’m still Jack Smith, common as it may be, but a lot of people call me Jahmes. I guess that is the dignified way to pronounce Jack.
Mama-Lillian didn’t want to push too hard as Little Sandy had been proposed to several times an’ she was getting on towards twenty-three. She had even had the unfortunate experience of being left at the altar. (That wedding had been arranged by, you know who.)
Well I braved mama-Lillian an’ Sandy and I got married. It t’were worth it ‘cause Sandy was mature and ripe at twenty-three and you all know how sweet it is when you pick somethin’ that is mature and ripe.
As we became old and married, Sandy and I, I could see mama-Lillian waiting in the wings to change me. I figure she had one person to change and I guess she had done a good job on her husband, papa-Sam, but you know what, I think I was going to be a little bit harder to change.
Now I would have told anybody (if she hadn’t been my mother-in-law) that mama-Lillian was a fine looking woman. Went to church every Sunday too. She was kind of bossy, though people put up with it ‘cause she was into doing good deeds, whether people wanted good deeds done or not.
Now papa-Sam was a big, old boy and we got along just fine. He said he grew fast and furious until he reached the age of fourteen at six foot-four inches. He slowed a lot ‘cause it took him two years to get another two inches piled on top. That was about it for him. He said he shore loved mama-Lillian.
He never complain’ about his life though, except when we got to comparin’ times a man could go a-lovin’ a woman in one session. About once was all he could manage, although he was willing to try for more. I said I did that every night, and once I went for three.
Once a night, he exclaimed, I thought you were speakin’ about in a month. Mama-Lillian couldn’t take anymore ‘cause she worked so hard for the church. Well I know she did a lot of good deeds, but maybe she should do a-leetle bit more of that good deed stuff at home.
Now I was a salesman and a prit good one too. I went all over the south sellin’ bibles. I sold a whole bunch and was voted best salesman in my territory year after year. ‘Course I had to carry some of those ‘nakid lady’ tapes with me, and I wouldn’t give anybody one unless they bought a bible. I had one guy liked the bible so much he bought a new one every time I came by. Read ‘em so much he wore ‘em out I guess.
Now I had seen papa-Sam’s equipment one time and I figured he was okay in that department. Maybe, just maybe, he needed a little instruction. Maybe if he could see what others could do with equipment like he had, he might up his quota for the month. Wouldn’t it be nice if mama-Lillian could get used to three or maybe even four (horrors) times a month.
I rooted round in my inventory until I came up with something I thought would be instructive and then set about selling papa-Sam a bible. (Hey, I have my standards.)
Before I got that bible sold to papa-Sam, the f----- finger of fate stepped in to give me a boost. (That’s fickle finger.) Get your mind above your belt!
I was talkin’ to papa-Sam one day an’ said he ought to have a gun to kill his sick dog. The poor old thing was seventeen and in misery, an’ he should have something around to kill the bitch. I saw a little gleam in his eyes when I mentioned kill the bitch, but if I gave him a gun, it was his to shoot an’thing he wanted to with. I did like fresh coon an’ possum.