For devilment, when Maw Maw and I went into town, I bought a Mega Millions ticket at the Georgia Lottery kiosk and noticed all manner of carryin on upstairs.
I have occasional business in downtown Atlanta near the Olympic park, and hell, most of them buildings are basically showrooms for the New Southern Gothic of faux stained mahogany and all manner of beige carrying on I talked about in another day log.
Maw Maw started in on me with a laundry list of complaints after seein' me pull up the "merkin" search in that there talky box in the right hand side this mornin'. I don't think she saw the Lady Gaga search, lucky me... Anyhow, dunno who mentioned it, but it pulled up pictures of various patches of fake twitchet hair, and that set Maw Maw off about all the problems we had. I don't pay enough attention to kin when I'm in town, instead on these internets, and would it kill me to dress a little nicer? And the pastor's right, these internets are all full of filth and it wouldn't surprise her if I left her for some girl I met on the Web. A small tear rolled down her face then. I was amazed. I said girl, we been together for so long, and I'm too long in the tooth and too damn fond of you to go chasin' anyone else. 'S why I spent today off that net. We went shoppin and about our business.
So I went into my stash of re-enactry gear and found my old gun-coat, nice britches, bib shirt with-wing collar and cravat with brocade vest. Put on a shaped ten gallon dress hat and some right fancy cowboy boots. Cut a nice figure, I did. We went into town like that. I waxed the edges of my moustache and we carried on with me tellin' Maw Maw I was sorry for relaxin' a bit too much, denim and flannel wise.
Anyhow there's this here big fashion show, and for devilment I walk in. It's not for public, like most things in that place, and I walk in like I belong, though it's only for industry people. I saunter in and walk over to see what they got in men's wear. Same damn thing. Like this Ed Hardy feller's done possessed every damn one of em and they all got the same faux-hipster vintage tattoo inspired dumbass wear. I sprayed a bit of the cologne they had on a piece of paper and it reeked of vinegar and water, if you get my drift. Dunno where you're at, but here the reds in tattoos are mighty red cause they come with extra Heptatitis baked in, done out of trailers. No thank you.
For even more devilment I walk up to the backstage area where all the models are, little skinny women in rhinestone dresses, and ask when we're on.
They said they didn't know when the men's wear was. So I sashay out, my cowboy boots clacking on the runway, just to tell the fellers down at the Caboose I done it, when I see this Atlanta PD officer walking to me. Lucky I had my cigarette, so I say in my best French accent "where do I find ze exit monsieur?" while demonstrating with the cig I'm fixin' to smoke and it's the extent of my English and he says "that a way" honestly. I got away with it.
I'm chucklin' to myself as I meet up with Maw Maw, but not before stoppin' in the hotel and pickin' up a lone rose, which I give to her. Tell her I'm sorry for bein' a bit of a horse's ass.
We come home and she makes me a coffee and tells me to come on these here internets, but not to be too late to bed. She's a good woman, is Maw Maw.