Auntie Carol dressed in the white linen suit and hot pink blouse resembled an angry orchid on the rampage. Lady Lynda decked out in A purple and yellow ensemble ersembled nothing if not a huge overgrown pansie. It was just another day at Pequot School or was it? A word to the wise, our “girls” were on the war path. They resnted the abuse of the King’s English and they resented the loose morals of today’s youth.
Where was the beauty of a long anticipatory courtship? To tear the petals off a flower, “he loves me: he loves me not. Where were all the bouquets and chocolates and the waiting for the marriage bed? Where, oh where? To yearn, and think fond thoughts of someone. Why did the School system no longer teach medieval literature such as Le Roman de ls Rose and Sir Gawain and the Green knight. Where was the chivalry in today’s young men? The dreaded “hookup” took all the romance out of relationships. Love used to be an extremely fond feeling for another human being: now it was all about the friction of certain body parts, which will not be named.
Auntie Carol was so disressed she informed Lady Lynda that she was on the point of flinging herself into The River Styx, better known as the Skukill.
Lady Lynda drily replied, “Dear, perhaps we take our dear selves a little too seriously and you know as well as I suicides don’t get to pass through the Pearly Gates.”
“Ah yes, Dearest Lynda yoy are so good at putting things into perspective,” said Auntie Carol.
“That is a given, dear”,said Lady Lynda who was posting these words on the black board.
“What is love and does it exist in today’s society. Has love, like the dynosaur become extinct.”
This produced raucous laughter and much high fiving amongst the class members.
Tyrone spoke first. “Miz Lynda, why you even go there? It aint no thang.”
“Love exists,” said Francisco. “I love a bitch wid’ a big ass like a ripe peach!”
“What about inner beauty? And do not, I repeat do not, refer to our young
ladies as bitches,” intoned Lady Lynda.
“Okay, Miz Lynda,” I like a robust young lady with a ponderous, loose caboose. So big I aint get my hands around It” said Francisco who added, “Ponderous is my word for the day.
I study vocab now in my spare time. See, I do got a mind after all.”
The clas then burst out laughing.
“Bravo, young man, and good for you studying vocabulary. The more words you have, the better you can think,” beamed Auntie Carol. “Hornswaggle is my own favorite word. It means to deceive. But, my young man you must learn not to fixate on outer beauty. It is inner beauty which really counts.”
“Ah, Miz Carol,” piped in Tyrone, ” No offense, but you got yo’ head so far up yo’ ass you aint never gone see day light! You can see a big ass. That’s real. You can’t read minds and that’s fo’ sho.'”
“I dont’ appreciate vulgarities. young man. I demand an apology!” excalimed Auntie Carol.
“Okay, Okay. Dont’ get all hot and bothered. I ‘pologize.” said Tyrone.
‘”This is what we’re talking about,” intoned Lady Lynda. “Inner beauty. You must mine the other person’s soul like a pirate seaching for
Tyrone exponded. “Ya gots to be kiddin’. Aint nothin’ there. These young ladies just wants to git’ pregnant,
plumb the depths of yo’ wallet, stay home, watch videos, and eat chips. They unnerstands two things, yo wallet and yo’ dick, excuse my French. Where the inner beauty in that, Miz Lynda?”
‘My word, such language,” said Auntie Carol.”I feel faint. Lady Lynda.
give me my smelling salts from my purse.”
“Here are your salts, dear, and may I say you must learn to cope with adversity and not take things to heart,”intoned Lady Lynda.
“Oh, most certainly, dear,” said Auntie Carol. “Young man you must seek out young girl’s with higher apsirations.”
Tyrone further stated, “Aint none around her lest you din’ notice. We all boys round here and aint none of those high fallutin’ types in the ‘hood.”
Auntie Carol replied. “A very wise man once said ‘One’s reach must exceed one’s grasp. A little witticism for you, dear. Look beyond your limited horizons for a btter class of person. Join a Book Club, go to museums, or go to church. Go to college or at the very least, a trade school. The more you learn: the more you earn. The bigger your life.”
Tyrone retorted, “Miz Carol, you is a piece of work.”
“Ah, What a piece of work is man,” said Miz Carol beaming like a ighthouse. “William Shakespeare, Dear. Oh my, I rhymed.”
“You really think we should read this Shakespeare shit and the other Green Knight thing. What it gone do for my wallet?”
“You’re, too literal, dear. And, well yes, I think you should. Have any of you watched the soaps?”
“I have,” injected Francisco.
“Well,” said Auntie Carol, “What would you say if your uncle murdered your father, the King and married you mother, and you knew it?”
“I say it be pretty fucked up,” said Francisco.
“No seriously fucked up,” said Tyrone.
“Gentleman,” said Lady Lynda, “I have called you that because I expect you to behave as one. That “F” word will no longer be tolerated in your vernacular unless there’s a burning building and you’re trapped in it! Do I make myself, clear!! Nor will the “S” word be used . Say excrement if you must!”
“”Who the guy wid’ the messed up oroblem, Miz Lynda?” asked Tyrone.
“Hamlet, Prince of Danes by William Shakespeare,” said Lady Lynda.
“Danes,” said Tyrone.
“This got to be some freakey deakey white mess. Aint no black man do that! We gone read that, Miz Lynda?”
“Yes, dear and we’ll also read Othello, about a black king who mistakingly believes his white wife is having an affair with a white man,” said Lady Lynda.
“Oh fuck! It just like O.J. Simpson, ” said Francisco laughing.
“Gentleman, said Auntie Carol, “We must simply insist you clean up your potty moughs while you are in our classes. Only the truly ignorant use those words. It’s declasse!”
“Meaning what?” asked Francisco.
“Low class,”replied Auntie Carol.
Franciso let out a belly laugh and said in a John Wayne voice, “Well, gosh darnit, ma’am and gee whillickers, we sure dont’ want to be low class. You got our respect. We won’t do it anymore. Notice I said ‘won’t’ not ‘aint’ and anymore not no more?”
“Well, hot damn,” intoned Lady Lynda.
CAROL ANN writer of Poems of Thunder (Noir & Whimsy) @ Amazon, BN & publishamerica.com