Dear Delilah

Dear Delilah,

How are you? I am good. Things are tough here these days. Papa lost his little finger in a tragic accident involving a pint of whiskey, a rubber band and a hacksaw, Mama lost in the pie baking contest to Janet Friedelhorn – she thinks it’s a jewish conspiracy against the righteous Christians (“But never you mind,” she told me, “They’ll get what’s coming to them in the end on Judgment Day.”), to make Mama feel better, Sally Jo ate the entire prune pie in one sitting and done spent the next 3 days locked in the outhouse – none of us could use it for a week afterwards, and John-Boy ran off with that whore Daisy-May.

Other than that, I am doing well. I am writing slow cuz I know you don’t read fast.

Next week is the big dance at the Town Hall to celebrate the 150 year anniversary of the day our Founder, Big Willy Johnson, got lost on his way to Topeka. He’d had a little too much Peach Moonshine and passed out at the site of the town hall. It didn’t help none that the horse he’d thought he’d stolen at the saloon –turned out to be the fat daughter of the owner. she refused to go any farther and they got married and had 10 chillens.

I am excited about the dance. I think I’ll let Jim Smallsack take me. He came round to the house just last month to eat Mama’s county-fried chicken dinner. Of course, he ain’t been round since, but none of us could leave the bed for a spell after eating Mama’s country-fried chicken anyhow. I think he still likes me cuz he done told Mary Katherine Bigteethsmallface that he thought I was super swell. I think I’ll wear my red dress and stockings. I have a bunion on my right foot that looks awful bad, but I can wear closed toed shoes to cover that up. I just hope it don’t mess with my dancing.

The farm is doing well. We got 3 chickens, but two of them don’t lay no eggs. The third only lays egg whites. But Papa says that ain’t bad cuz we’ll all have lower cholesterol in the end. We planted tomatoes and lima beans and pineapple. Before he done run off with that whore Daisy-May, John Boy told Papa that Pineapple don’t grow here. We ain’t seen none yet, but Papa goes out every day to talk the Pineapple into growing so he can mail one to John Boy when we find out where he done run off to. I thought I’d done seen a sprout last week, but it turned out to be a marijuana plant. So I smoked it up and then went and ate an entire Mama’s Prune Pie myself. That is the last time I will ever do that.

Well, girl. I miss you real big. When you get back home we'll go out to the cemetery and become blood sisters again. I ain't felt right since I done disowned you after I catched you kissin' on Jethro Gumsmacker in the fourth grade. If I'd known that'd be his last year in school it would've mattered as much as a fly on horse shit.

Hope to hear from you soon.

Love,

Pokey