Most everybody knows of a loquacious wife. She is a wonderful creature whose conversation is about as lively as her heart and generously rounded as her waist. She is no tender footed dainty, that is for certain. The loqua—perhaps I should simply call her the L W for short—the L W is a popular woman among the town bachelors for two very good reasons. The first is obvious from her girth. She has a board that is the boast of the town. Her husband is truly blessed. The second is obvious from her good nature, for a good nature is rarely wasted on the skinny or the obese. Somehow, this enviable trait finds its home in the heart of the corpulent, male or female.
One specific matron, I should have you know, is Mrs. Taintnottin. She stole her name from her husband about thirty-two years ago on a bright day in June. She had not yet achieved her girth, but if her joviality was any promise of the future, her husband knew what was approaching and he loved it. At that time, she was a green eyed young beauty in a small town. They were as mysterious and wonderful to her husband as faith. And her smile captured and broke the hearts of many a young man.
Mrs. Taintnottin, Rosalie by her friends and “tootles” by her husband, presents the model for the L W. It is part of her nature, which some people rightly curb and others wrongfully curb, to be the speaker of the house. Not necessarily is she the boss. By no means, for we know that being vociferous does not, by its nature, make one the chief.
She is an honest woman in her speech. She once slapped Tommy Cartwright and called him a “lout and lazy good for nothing dirtbag” and later gave him a hug saying, “Next to my husband, you are the most gentlemanly fellow in the county.” (As odd as it may seem, she was right on both counts.) Sometimes, she tends to be too abrupt. But her listeners must always remember that she only speaks what is her mind. And what is on her mind stays long enough to be spoke and forgotten. Her thoughts, like her words, she supposes, flit away in a matter of seconds.
If you were to meet Mrs. Taintnottin, she is generally not far from a wide circle of friends and plenty of laughter.
“Now I said to the young lady,” Mrs. Taintnottin says, “you know, I doubt eloping is the way to go. It simply doesn’t pay. Take it from me. I had a regular wedding and was able to milk $234.67 out of the dollar dance alone. But Mr. Taintnottin, let me tell you, lost to me by only $56.90. Honestly, the boys were lined up for miles and the girls—well, there were a few of them too—only it was their last chance, I told them, to prance about with my Bill. And he was ever a nice dancer. So this young lady, as I said, came up and spoke about eloping. ‘My parents are not too keen on this fellow, I’m seeing,’ she said, ‘but he’s a good guy if ever I met one.’ Look, honey, I said, don’t you be going around your parents. They have some knowledge you’re unfamiliar with. You would do no wrong to listen and wait. If he’s a good fellow, as you say, he’ll wait. But don’t you be keeping him waiting too long. And don’t you elope. Like I said, there’s no money in it. Just with cards and cash alone…”
“Tootles,” Mr. Taintnottin interrupts, “are you sure these people want to hear about our wedding earnings?”
“Mr. Taintnottin (it was an odd custom she had, but that was her term endearment for the gray headed ancient), well, I am sure you’re right,” Mrs. Taintnottin returns. “Did I tell you folks what happened to me—Jill! why it’s been about sixty years, sixty years and thirteen days, to be sure, since I’ve seen you last?” And Mrs. Taintnottin turns away to an old friend who has just walked into the room.
No comments:
Post a Comment