OK - I have to spill it. I hate to come off as a snob, cause God knows I love people and I have rednecks in my own family that I love and have fun with upon rare occasions. What I have to say ain't pretty. I've got something to vent about and it's going to be lengthy. There is a lot of inherent humor in the situation, so hang in there, Gentle Reader. Perhaps you can relate, but I freakin' doubt it.
Disclaimer: If you think Jeff Foxworthy or any of that blue collar humor is funny, stop reading right here, for this story is an unflattering rant about rednecks. And this ain't Jeff Foxworthy we're talking about. This is Jeff's embarrassing cousins.
If you've ever said "Wal-marks" instead of Walmart, turn back NOW.
MyraMains and I went to THE most redneckity 4th of July fiasco EVAH. We went only to please our mother, who held her breath and prayed to God that we would go. We were suckered in by her hopeful request and agreed to go.
Before I launch into the gory details, I have to say that the host and hostess were school friends of my parents. They are very sweet people who graciously extended their hospitality to us and I feel guilty for some of the thoughts that went through my head while we were there. I care about the old couple and remember them fondly from my childhood. But I sure 'nuff didn't want to spend the day at their house.
Now... my misery was many-fold.
For one thing, it was 100 degrees outside. Literally - 100 degrees. This was an outdoor event. This was the very LAST outdoor event I will ever be attending in 100 degree weather. For all of the future, my answer is NO. I'm not doing it again.
Secondly, I do not fit in with any group of rednecks. Nothing about me works in the redneck environment. I felt awkward the entire time. I felt like a female Niles Crane at a Hoe-down. I guess I am prissy, snobby, bitchy, and several of the other dwarves as well.
I saw a set of teeth that were not housed in a face. They were in a cup. No water, just teeth. I didn't need to see that, Quacky.
Every damn body was a smoker. There was no place to sit that was not in the path of someone's lung butter ~N~ smoke. Ashes in the eyes. Wasps everywhere. Rickety lawn chairs. Sticky babies all over the place.
There were children running around with babies. These children were the "parents" of the babies. Apparently there's not much to do in Fuckitville, so they procreate as soon as their jibbleys are ripe.
The toilet wouldn't flush. Could happen to anyone, right?
Our gracious hosts did not possess even half a set of teeth between them. I shit you not. The Mister was talking through a big hole of no uppers or lowers, but he had spikey brown fence posts on either side of the grill. He was rocking some brown fangs.
There was a large, manly woman with a big ugly purple hickey on her neck, regaling us with tales about all those (normal) "folks whut thanks they's better'n us". The most frequently used word of the day was "Sheeeeit!"
One of the funny, funny tales was about this "uppity" woman who felt the need to put on some makeup and fix her hair before going to the hospital when her daughter was giving birth. Now granted, you have to hurry when a baby is being born, but in this story, the heros and heroines showed up at the hospital with their hair sticking straight up and all of them looking like buttered hell. It was incomprehensible hilarity for them that someone would groom themselves before leaving home.
A woman I have known for my entire life (because we played together as children and hung out throughout our teens) PRETENDED not to remember me. I know she remembers me, but I figure she has a self image problem and did not want to recap the past since she married some yokel that beats her and did nothing with her life. plus, she looks a good 15 or 20 years older than she is. Hard living. One of her daughters has a rotten tooth in front and is about to burst forth with her second illegitimate kid.
Hey, a rotten 'un is better'n none. Ats whut I allus say.
Myra had to get up and sing, because she is a radio personality and is always roped into being the entertainment at these kinds of events. That Myra is a sport. These people all listen to Myra on the radio. They dig the tunes. They don't find the insufferable country shlock to be offensive at all.
There were some young girls at the party and they were kind of pretty, but they had no social skills whatsoever. They did not even look in the direction of any of us uppity city folk when we spoke to them. They did not make eye contact. It was all very "children of the corn".
Heat, humidity, bugs, free floating false teeth, brown fence posts, biker babes without bikes, sticky babies everywhere, and somebody said "If Walmarks ain't got it, we don't need it!"
I watched a toothless woman gum down a greasy red sausage. ::Bonk chicka ding dow, gawacka::.
Most entertaining moment of the day: Myra announced (up outta nowhere) on the way over there, that one of our uncles has a boil on his taint.
On. His. Taint.
So naturally, we had to make up a song. Have you ever heard that song "There's a hole in the bottom of the sea"? In that song, there's a scale on a fish on a rock in a bucket in the hole in the bottom of the sea... or something like that. It keeps on building up.
So we were singing "There's a mite on the flea on the hair in the goo on the boil in the bottom of his taint."
Sure, it was gross and classless, but we were trying to get into the spirit of the day, dammit. We laughed till I thought I was going to faint. Then we laughed some more.
That's how our 4th of July went. We didn't even stay for the fireworks. We just got the hell out of dodge at the very first opportunity.
There's a whole day of my life that I'll never get back.