Mayberry (Rated RFD)

My mother doesn’t use the F- word.  She leaves that to her thirteen children.  And, if one of her children doesn’t make the f bomb quota on a certain month, she can depend on the others to deliver it properly.  That’s what family is all about.  Trust, love, profanity, and sometimes, even reading lips.

Before my ripened age of 44, I could count the number of curses delivered from my mother on less than one hand.  Post 44, even with frostbite, I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count anymore.  It’s not blasphemy.  I guess she’s just tired of conforming after 90 years of profane oppression

When reading lips, one may mistake the word, “slipped” or “hit” with, “shit”.  It’s very common when watching televised football, baseball or basketball.  Usually, “shit” is easy to spot, and those keeping track of on-field profanities are commonly correct.  My wife enjoys reading Tom Brady’s lips while watching football, while my mother enjoys reading lips watching The Andy Griffith Show.  My wife is usually spot on.  My mother is not.

Visiting my one hundred and thirteen year old mother is always a gas.  Her hearing is suspect and irrelevant.  Yes, I use the word “old” because she prefers it that way.  She doesn’t like it when people give her the “oh, you’re only one hundred years young” crap.  She’s not selling it, and nobody wants to buy it.

While sitting next to my mother the other day, she wanted to watch some Andy Griffith.  I was all in because I love the down home, naive courteous nature, infused with an idiotic deputy gossiping as much as the foolish town folk.  It’s similar to the town I spent many years listening to such folk.  According to my mother, they (The Andy Griffith Show) began crossing the lines of good, bad and fun taste.

My mother was convinced anytime an actor or actress uttered a word evenly mouth worthy of “shit”, she’d interpret it as though she had been deprived of her childhood right to swear properly.

“How about that, Barney. He hit that right on the head, didn’t he?”

Mom would look at me and say, with laughter, “Did Andy just say he shit right on Barney’s head??!”

My response was… “No, mother.  I don’t think they allowed  that language on television in the 1950’s, nor do they do now in 2017”.

Not more that five minutes later, my mother was convinced the Mayberry town drunk, Otis, said, “I’m going to shit on this stool right now.” As apposed to the true facts, (I just love our new presidential terms) Otis did say, “I am going to sit on this stool right now.”

Rather than correcting my mother, her giggling reflected a mood we all may require.  Although her observations may have been incorrect, her genuine laughter wasn’t fake.

 

 

 

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