A Love Story

By Hillbilly Mom of Hillbilly Mansion


A Love Story


Gwen tossed the possum into the sack, holding her breath just long enough to avoid the stench. "You ain't playin', are you, Mr. O. Possum?"she quizzed the unwieldy carcass. She sealed the white pillowcase with a fire-engine-red twist-tie, just under the embroidered lilac border. Nobody could embroider like Gammy. Who woulda thunk it, what with Gammy's arthritis and all. It was due, no doubt, to the repetitive motion of flinging poop at any trespasser to venture up Gammy's driveway.

Nothing much stopped Gammy from dipping into the 10-gallon white plastic drywall bucket of turds next to her rocker, and letting one fly across the dooryard at many an unsuspecting parasite. Oh, they wanted to sell her vacuum cleaners, and books, and magazines. Some were students, working their way through college. Others were natural-born hucksters, slicker than snot, chanting a jingle sure to make her bite. But Gammy didn't bite. Not on the sales pitch, anyway. What did she care if some slimy, wet-behind-the-ears snake-oil salesman won a skiing trip to Hidden Valley?

"Time to get a move-on, gal!" Gammy shouted to Gwen. "Won't be long till this fog burns off, and we'll have ourselves a real scorcher. My turds will be melting by the time you get back from that wedding. Why you're a-goin' I'll never know. That Jimmy was YOUR boyfriend."

Gwen hefted the pillowcased possum over her shoulder. The gift-wrap job was quite purty, if she did say so herself. "Don't you worry about me, Gammy. I'm over Jimmy. But I sure hope he got himself a prenuptial agreement with that hoochie. I want to be sure he gets half of my gift if anything happens to break them up."