HERE AND THERE IN WAYNEDALE

Ooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhh I just have to tell you; my little tubby hubby Wayne is into gynecology or geniology, or something like that. Anyway he’s looking up dead relatives. He’s driving me up the wall with his going down town to the new library several times a week and doing his research and all. I asked him, “Can a first cousin, once removed, return? ‘Cause I remember his first cousin Claude and he sure wasn’t the sharpest tack in the box and when he left this world he owed me quite a bit of egg money that he borrowed. I think Wayne’s just tracing his family history so he’ll know who to blame. At least he doesn’t have to pay to park Caddy in the underground garage down there.

I think his family tree has some saps running around loose in it or at least maybe it’s just a few leaves short of being a shade tree since it only has one branch. When he asked me, “What about your relatives?” I said, “It’s hard to be humble with relatives like mine; we have royal blood in our veins you know! I’m related to Pocahanus. He got angry and started to pout; you can tell ‘cause his lower lip hits his collar button when he does. So, to make him feel better, I said, “But if you go back far enough we’re all related.” He didn’t like that either. There’s just no pleasing’ him, the cuddly little dear.

I told him if he wanted to find his relatives then just tell everyone you know that you won the lottery. Talk about steam release, he stomped out of the room in a huff. I remember what my mommy told me when I just turned thirteen, “Men are like porcupines; you can pet them all you want, but just don’t rub them the wrong way.” Now that I think about it, half of my relatives are men.

One good thing about going downtown to the library as I can see is Wayne has to take me out to eat and there are plenty of places to eat within leg shakin’ distance of the library. My favorite place is the quaint little old place called Coney Island. Oh, it’s a stretch of the legs but it lets me work up an appetite and by the time I get there I’m ready to carve into four of their Coney Dogs and a bowl of their chili soup. I wish they’d offer up coleslaw on top of their hot dogs and call them Waynedale Dogs like Wayne invented sometime back. Anyway I’m sure their chili soup is a concoction of some Greek relative of theirs because it doesn’t taste like any Mexican chili I’ve ever eaten and I love Mexican chili.

No, it’s got more of a Cincinnati chili taste to it and I think Cincinnati chili has nutmeg, cinnamon, and chocolate in it. Anyway I looked up some different recipes for Cincinnati chili and that’s just most of them call for. I love it.

They give you a packet of small oyster crackers (more if you ask) and you open the packet with your teeth and pour them into the bowl. They soak up the juice and you’re not likely to dribble it down your shirtfront. It doesn’t matter though; Wayne gets it inside his shirt every time unless I tuck a napkin under his chin and then only luck is on his side if he comes away clean or not.

I just love the small bottles of Coke that they sell and it’s just the perfect drink to go along with their chili and their Coneys. I usually drink two of them. I must admit that I have to excuse myself when I burp in my napkin but I just can’t help it and I noticed that several other ladies in the restaurant did the same thing, so be prepared and keep several napkins handy and keep your other cheeks pinched close together to prevent loud embarrassing noisy accidents.

Until next time, cinch up your girdle and stick out your chest; that’s what I always say; I can’t always do it but I can say it.

“Wayney dear, we haven’t had any in quite a spell; do you wanna get some?”

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Mrs. Waynedale

The adventures and reviews of Mrs. Waynedale are written by a mystery author in the Waynedale area. You have to love her, eccentric, truthful, and quaint as she is. She is a champion for Seniors. > Read Full Biography > More Articles Written By This Writer