A Third Hand Cootervillian Conversation

July 25

The other day my brother shared a conversation which he overheard my mother have.  I must share.  Be it known that all parties involved in said conversation (my mother) fully acknowledged that, once I was informed, said conversation would indeed become blog fodder.  And how.

First, a little background.  As you may or may not remember, my mother is the Town Select Woman of Cooterville.  Technically she is actually one of an elected, governing triumvirate, but she seems to be the go-to person.  This is probably because one of the other two is nothing short of a blithering idiot who makes one pause to contemplate that biggest of all questions: he is the result of the sperm that won?  And the other one . . . well, nice guy, but my mom just seems to be the go-to gal.

So, the other day my brother calls her cell phone and she answers and says (as she does all too often), “Can you hold on a second?  My other phone is ringing and I’m going to answer it.”  While sitting on his phone, waiting for her to return to her cell phone, this is what he heard (unheard other side of said conversation denoted by *******):



“Oh, yes.  We actually have a very nice picnic area in Cooterville.”


“Yes, it’s very nice.  There is a covered pavilion.  It’s a very nice park.”


“Well, we don’t actually have any picnic tables there.”


“Oh, but it is such a really nice area.  We’ve just had problems with teenagers throwing the picnic tables in the creek so, you know, we finally had to get rid of them.”


“Yeah, we have thought of getting some new picnic tables and bolting them down, but we’ve had problems with kids setting fire to the playground equipment* and we just figured they’d probably try to set the picnic tables on fire if they can’t throw them in the creek.  But it is a really, really nice area.  You’d really like it.  You just have to bring your own tables if you want them.”


“Reservation?  No, you don’t need to reserve anything.  It’s usually pretty open . . .  probably because there are no tables . . . ”

Obviously my mother has all the makings of a real politician.

*She conveniently left out all of the “reading material” the kids leave behind ON the playground equipment that isn’t burned down.  It’s where the new sailors go to learn the words they need to know.  But it’s a really nice area.

And George, if you’re out there, Tewt the Newt says %*&!!@# hello.

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