My Southern Accent

MY SOUTHERN ACCENT

By Jer Long

“Get in the car Howard. For God’s sake, get in the car. I’m not discussing our problems in the street.”

“Satisfied?”

“Shut the door. Shut the door, Howard. Your nosey little friend

Franny Funkhouser is making a beeline for the car. Is she tracking your cellphone? Too late, here she is, all five-foot-one inch of her, sideways. Roll the window down Howard. She’s scratching the glass with her Lee Press-Ons.”

“Honestly Millie.”

“Oh Franny! How’s it going? You look amazing in those clam-diggers. So stylish. Pudgy and petite is no longer a fashion death sentence.”

“Howard, I’ll be stopping by the church later to drop off…to

drop…”

“You’re pants?”

“What?”

“Plants. Plants for the children’s garden. How thoughtful of

you. Isn’t she thoughtful Howard?”

“Thanks Franny.”

“Anything for my favorite vicar.”

“Sorry honey, but we’ve got to run. Our plate is piled higher than Marge Simpson’s hair. Toodles darling! Roll the window up Howard. Roll. The window. Up. Howard.”

“Rude. Outright rude…”

“How dare she saunter over here, her bits and bobs jiggling

faster than a cooch dancer on crack.”

“Get a grip on yourself Millie. You’re a minister’s wife for

God’s sake.”

“For God’s sake? What about my sake? You totally humiliated me today.”

“Humiliated? You humiliated me.”

“The look on Dr. Oliver’s face…”

“Couple’s therapy was your idea.”

“I tried praying but no one was home when I got down on my knees.”

“Disgusting.”

“Heartless!”

“Enough Millie.”

“Don’t you dare open that door. You open that door and I’ll

phone Bishop Sullivan. I’ll cry on his shoulder. I’ll tell him everything. I’ll…”

“He has a thing for fat bums.”

“This fat bum was for you. You think I like dragging this double-wide around?”

“That’s right. Blame me for the breast augmentation, for the lip injections, and for the eye lift.”

“For you Howard! Nobody else but you!”

“And you wonder why I…’

“Bed half the female congregation?”

“You exaggerate everything.”

“Three ministerial mistresses for one ecclesiastic seems excessive no matter how you break the wafer.”

“A man has needs.”

“An old fool spouting old school bunk.”

“Should I have showered you with praise? Sang your glories to a

total stranger?”

“Dr. Oliver’s hardly a stranger.”

“He’s a bit bent of you get my drift.”

“We’ve seen him religiously for over a year, divulged our biggest secrets, fantasies, fears, and disappointments…”

“Correction. You emptied your treasure trove of fantasies,

fears…”

“One thing. He asked you to name one itsy-bitsy thing you like about me. One cockamamie compliment was the best you could do Howard after I went on and on about…”

“Christ! I cringed when you rattled on about my assets. Did you

have to mention my ginormous member to that old fag? He’s probably diddling with his fiddle right now.”

“What are you ten?”

“I know queers and...”

“My Southern accent! When he asked you for the fourth time to

name something you found attractive about me…My Southern accent was the best you could do.”

“Between you, a repetitive parrot, and that pug-faced prissy

sissy from Mississippi….”

“That’s rich coming from a narcissistic horndog who pops Viagra like Ticktacks.”

“Mother warned me you’d be a badger.”

“Like mother, like son. Her bloomers were hotter than Miami in

August. She met her maker with grin wider the Atlantic when the snaggle-toothed cougar keeled over dead in that marathon runner’s bed.”

“You have a duty.”

“To my lord and master? What do you expect me to do? Close up

shop down there? Retire my vagina monologue at fifty-two?”

“You’re a grandmother, Millie.”

“And you’re a dirty old man fifteen years my senior.”

“Monica Braithwaite calls me the senior sensation.”

“A senior sag-sation. My Southern accent! After twenty-five years

of marriage, I parked my ache and mortification outside Dr. Oliver’s office door and bore my heart and soul to you, for you. My God damn Southern accent. Really, Howard! You should be grateful for all I’ve done for you. You’re fixation on Dolly Parton, your obsession with Angelina Jolie’s puckered puss, Kim Kardashian’s junk in my trunk…for you Howard. All for you.”

“You made your choices and now…”

“Blow Gabriel blow! The ugly truth just smacked my facelift but hard. All this trying and dying. Shoot! Split the cedar and burn pork, they’ll be chops on the table for one tonight. I’ve been a roast duck for too long. Unseen for the best part of twenty years, I could have played the invisible man in drag. For you see, I’m only a wife. My job is to be an upright, uptight Anglican spouse of a louse. Mrs. Minister trotting off to bible study, volunteering at the food bank, quilting with the animated corpses at the home, and bedding down alone at

midnight too tight to titillate even herself.”

“You made your bed.”

“And you soiled the linen.”

“I’m leaving you Millie.”

“Be my guest sugar plum, this fairy godmother has been sprung from under the salacious clergyman's thumb.”

“I’m your everything.”

“You’re the salt in my wound and the twine around my neck.”

“I’ll…”

“No lamb! It’ll be me suing you for every last dime your philandering father left you.”

“Aren’t you going to stop me?”

“Why get upset over a few too many peppers in the potluck. Stop

you? I’m not a shrew. You’re a grown man. Open the door. If you hurry, you can squeeze in a shameless shag with Franny Funkhouser before she’s due back at the kindergarten.”

“I’m opening the door, Millie. My fingers are on the handle.

Here I go. It’s open. Aren’t you going to make a spectacle of yourself Millie? Throw your wrinkled self on the sidewalk, kick and scream and beg me to come home...WO-O-O-WOW! Jesus H. Christ! You crazy...!”

“Oh, Howie honey, your glasses. Both lenses scratched along the

bifocal line. Do be careful. Those nasty old curbs are hell on near-sighted codgers such as yourself.”

"You...you... you pushed me!"

“Howard! From way over her in the driver's seat. How you do carry on."

"I saw you...you wildcat! Millie Millhouse Lincoln…”

“Please Franny! You’re too short for that gesture.

“You are revolting.”

“And you sister-woman are a ‘ho.’ “

“Come along Howard."

“Remember Franny dear, caring means sharing, and three heads...I mean four heads are better than one. Ta!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?! Millie! Millie! What did she mean Howard? Howard? Don’t you dare walk away when I’m yelling at you!”

Word Count 1065