Why Papa Needs Shopping Supervision

Hello folks, let’s chat… There are certain men who shouldn’t be allowed to go shopping for their sweethearts without supervision. By certain men, I’m talking about Papa.

My parents recently celebrated their 49th wedding anniversary. Papa remembered this all on his own, which is good. He brought Mama flowers from the funeral home flower shop. That wasn’t so good. If you’re thinking “But, Shellie, people buy flowers from the funeral home for all kinds of happy occasions” you have a point. The problem is someone there was either not paying attention, taking cruel advantage of Papa’s shopping challenged self, or having some fun at his expense. Regardless, they were wrong for letting the poor man purchase a funeral spray for his Sweet Thang. We’re talking a nice-sized plastic spray meant to sit atop a casket or gravestone, the kind that comes with its own lovely base of green foam. Are you picking up what I’m putting down?

If you see Mama, don’t tell her it’s the thought that counts. We tried. She may have cut him some slack for those good intentions, too– if he weren’t a repeat offender. Yes, it’s hard to believe but Papa has made the same mistake for two years running and for two years straight Mama has toted the flowers to church and put them on the communion table, the one with the engraved “This Do in Remembrance of Me” line. The rest of us are hoping that’s just a funny little coincidence.


Poor Papa, he should’ve asked one of us girls for help, like he does my middle sister at Christmas time when he has her bring Mama in some snazzy outfits from the Big D. We could’ve saved him a ton of grief. (Yeah, and I wasn’t even reaching for that pun.)

The only thing I can do now is try and keep him out of deeper trouble. Listen up, guys, this tip could save the rest of you some shopping drama, too. I found a new fragrance online called Funeral Home, designed with those very scents in mind.

Buyers beware. Unless I miss my guess, your honey will wear it over her dead body…or yours.

Hugs, Shellie



Wedding Throwdowns and Debunking Southern Stereotypes

Hello folks, let’s chat… Once again I question why we southerners are always the ones stereotyped as crazy gun-toting rednecks fond of marrying our relatives. Everybody around here marries outside of their family. On purpose.

And, may the record show that I’ve never witnessed a brawl at any of our beautiful ceremonies. maybe a few looks that could kill, but an all out riot, no ma’am. I bring this up in light of a story coming out of New Jersey with the following headline. “300 Brawl at Wedding; 2 arrested.”


The article didn’t say if this was a self-contained family feud or an us against them brawl with the new in-laws but either way, the Christmas get-together is looking sketchy.

And speaking of sketchy, the whole story left me with more questions than answers. Like that quote from the off duty cops who were working as security for the big event, do tell. Is security a common line item on the wedding plan these days? Flowers? Check. Photographer? Check. Undercover officers in case of a throw down? Check.

For what it’s worth, Bubba says it wasn’t much of a fight if only two people were arrested out of 300. He’s thinking there was probably more pushing and posing than anything. “You want some of me?” “You talking to me?!!”

But, I digress.

I sincerely hope this PoPo wedding is an isolated incident and not a trend. However, because I’m here for y’all and all that, I’ve put together a helpful list. Here are the top three ways to tell if you’re about to witness a happily ever after type ceremony or a throw down.

Number 3.  You’re still wondering why brass knuckles were listed on the couple’s gift registry.

Number 2.  You notice the family sections are roped off with police tape instead of tulle.

And the number one way to tell if you’re headed to a thrown down:  You’re fingerprinted when you go to sign the guest book.

If you can check two of the three, speak now and do not hold your peace.


News from the Land of Fruits and Nuts

Hello folks, let’s chat… So, I read that in the very near future senior citizens in our society will be cared for by robots.  This from a professor of geriatrics living in the Land of Fruits and Nuts known as California. I’m sure that’s completely coincidental.

I have some concerns. For starters, who will be expected to program Rosie the Robot and her well-meaning friends?  It’s a fair question. I remember trying to help my late mother-in-law operate her TV remote. We did everything from duct taping the buttons Mawmaw Lucy didn’t need to push, to putting fingernail polish on the ones she did. And we still found her watching MTV at all hours, supposedly because she didn’t know how to find her favorite program, but who really knows.


Seriously, that remote was a constant source of frustration for Lucy, and by extension, an ongoing challenge for the rest of us. During one Sunday afternoon visit, my sweet husband tried to interest his mother in yet another demonstration on operating the remote and why she should pay attention to what he was saying. Mawmaw was equally determined to cut class.

“Phil,” his mother said patiently, “I understand what you’re saying. A remote is a good thing– if you can figure out how to use it.”

Mawmaw had a solid point there, and it makes my case. Having robotic ears around to alert loved ones in case of an emergency could be a good thing, but programming Rosie is likely to be an issue for all of us.  Phil and I can operate remotes, but we still high-five each other when we manage to set the DVD player.

However,  none of these concerns of mine hold a candle to my biggest problem with this idea. The Good Book tells me to honor my father and mother. Before I, Belle of All Things Southern, trust their care to a robot I will move to The Land of Fruits and Nuts and watch MTV all day. Yes, I’m that serious.

Hugs, Shellie