American Thighs Read Online Free

WRONGLY—that Miss Lydy might be shy about having her name out there, attached to that story. Upon publication of that first book, I was informed, hotly so, by Miss Lydy that I’d best be givin’ credit where credit was due, first chance I got, and boy-hidee, did I ever! Next book out— God Save the Sweet Potato Queens —I made sure I not only acknowledged, I verbally bowed and scraped before the feet of, the exalted Most High Miss Lydy. And, true to form, she not only forgave my lapse but gave me more fodder.
    Now, Miss Lydy was, truth be told, a tad bit older than most of us who hung around worshipping her. I’m not real sure if anybody was actually well informed as to her age, but she did allow as to how she did have her some REEEALLY old friends. She was laughing fit to kill one day as she hung up the phone from talking to one of ’em. Seems the Old Friend Girlene had her a new Old Beau who had been sparkin’ her along quite regular and Girlene was thinking that Tonight might just be The Night and she was all excited but then she remembered something that sorta debloomed her rose, at least temporarily—but, as is so typical of her resourceful generation, no sooner had the problem presented itself than she had thought up—and executed—the very cleverest of solutions.
    Miss Lydy was almost laughing too hard to explain—almost. Okay, Girlene was all hot and six kinds of ready for a very-long-awaited trot until she remembered that it had, in fact, been a really long wait in between suitors—so long she couldn’t really precisely say that she could right off remember when she had Received Her Last Gentleman Caller but she was pretty sure that whenever it was, she had still possessed a full crop of down-there hair that matched her hair-hair, black for black.
    Now, here she was, however many years later, and her hair-hair was still as black as black could ever hope to be—but her hoo-hoo hair was, well, GONE. It had done got tired a-waitin’ and flown the hoo-hoo coop. And now she had a bona fide Gentleman Caller and here she sat with her head full of bootblack hair and her hoo-hoo bald as an egg. What to do? What to do?
    They don’t call ’em the Greatest Generation for NOTHIN’, you know! She did what anybody with an ounce of spunk and a brand-new Sharpie would do! She drew some on!
    A lesser woman woulda blown Jack Daniel’s out her nose upon hearing that story, but Miss Lydy would NEVER waste good whiskey. Nor would she keep a PRICELESS story to herself. I expressed my own personal hope that somebody told Girlene the truth that would relieve her mind and save her Sharpies—that what she was sitting on was a PAIN-FREE, ALL-NATURAL Brazilian! I was assured, with a derisive snort, that “they read Cosmo, TOO, y’know!” Girlene just thought the old boy might need some kind of landmark until he sorta got the lay of the land, so to speak.
    Sadly, tragically, Miss Lydy is no longer with us. At least not where we can see her and hug her. But obviously, the woman was a force of nature—so I’ve NO DOUBT she’s with us—there’s no place big enough to HOLD her. Whenever I go to a play anywhere—but especially when I go to her beloved New Stage Theater in Jackson, Mississippi, where she starred in and stole many a show—I swear I can just hear her saying what she believed with all her might: “LOOK AT THIS! ISN’T THIS GREAT? PANTIES IN THE BUSHES—EVERYBODY’S SCREWING EVERYBODY! IT’S…THE THEATER!” Amen.
    The Color Purple, Revisited
    And then there’s Mary Katherine. She and Bailey have been friends for a goodly part of their young lives and you know how your kids have one or two friends that you just LOVE yourownself? Kids you would hang out with on your own—whether your kid was around or not? Mary Katherine is one of those kids—she’s destined to be one of those