What the Heck? Old People Don’t Get Married (Finale)

Reblog of older post. Contains original Art

Mama was waiting for me with the screen door open. “You sassed Miz Wilson! You know better than that. Go cut a switch, and it better be the right or I’ll go get one myself.”

My pathetic explanation, “I wasn’t trying to be smart alek, I really just didn’t care if I wore out the seat of my pants,” was no help.  There was no escaping.  Mama wasn’t cruel, just intended for her children to obey.  Selection of a switch was a weighty matter.  Mama required a switch large enough to make a nice snap and sting when it struck the legs, but small enough not to cut the skin.  I wanted to choose a switch just barely large enough to meet her standards.  If I misjudged and Mama had to fetch her own, it would not be good.  Dawdling would not help, so I chose the best of the…

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