Cajun Communication

“Now Thelma darlin’, don’t make me come in there and whack you a good-un.”

“Cletus, you jess try and lay a hand on me and I’ll give you what-for.”

“Dang it woman! Just you stop your sassin’. If any of the fellers ever got wind of the way you talk to me …well there would be no end to it.”

“Would serve you right, you worthless varmint, not that you should care much about what that lazy bunch of hoodlums that you hangs out with think.”

“There ain’t a thing wrong with the boys I hangs out with. You just jealous that I got me what they calls a social life.”

“What you talkin bout, social life? All you-uns do is git drunk on that white lightenin’ an tell lies to each other.”

“Dem ain’t lies. Dems planning sessions. We have to do some figurin afore we go huntin’ and such. Otherwise, dem dang revenuers will catch us whilst we is poachin’.”

“Some poacher you are. Last week all you brought home was a piece of wood you found somewheres.”

“That was no ordinary piece of wood woman. It had a shape that reminded me of Daisy. Got-damn she was a fine coon hound.”

“If you paid me half the mind you does to those hounds of yours, we’d be a sight happier.”

“Thelma, every time I pay a bit of attention to you, along comes another young-un. We must have seven or eight of them things running around here by now.”

“Dang-be if you ain’t the dumbest thing to walk out of that swamp in the last thirty years. We got us four children. There’s Roscoe, Betsy-Sue, Enus and I ain’t got around to namin’ the baby just yet. I was thinkin maybe Trig or something like that.”

“Four, eight, what’s the difference. You know’d cipherin ain’t never been my strong point and what the hell kind of name is Trig?”

“Cletus, let’s face it, you ain’t got no strong points and Trig is a fine, strong name. I think it’s in the bible … or maybe it’s short for trigger, like on your shootin iron. He needs to have a strong name in case he grows up to be retarded like his pa.”

“That does it. Now I’m gonna have to whack you fer sure. I can’t tolerate such sass for long ... say, is that possum stew I’m a-smellin’?”

“You know it is. Young Roscoe wrestled it from that red hound of yers. This will be some good eatin’.”

“Dang woman, now I remembers why I keeps you around. Ain’t no one can cook up a stew like you.”

“Hush your sweet talkin’ and git them hounds outside whilst I set the table.”

“If that stew tastes as good as it smells, mayhab I’ll pay some attention to you later.”

“Cletus, you devil. You know how to talk to a woman. That’s for sure.”

Word count 487