Do you ever find yourself amused (and amazed) by peoples' white trash antics?
Sure you do.
Southern Fried White Trash takes a humorous look at the unbelievable mindset of the national subculture (and Southern specialty) we affectionately refer to as "white trash."

Monday, January 24, 2011

“Well, I never.”

I think that's one of my favorite Southern expressions of all time. So much can be added to the end of that statement, can't it? "Well I never…" What? Saw that? Did that? Said that? Kind of an all-inclusive expression of shock and disapproval, rolled into one unfinished statement.

I had a message on my phone when I left the gym this morning. It was from my dad's nurse, and she was in a panic. Apparently, my dad had blockaded himself in his apartment at the retirement community in which he lives. His nurse couldn't get in to check his blood sugar and administer his insulin. So they called me, 30 miles away, to...well I'm not sure what they wanted me to do. As it turns out, my dad puts a chair in front of his door every night so that he can hear his nurse come in every morning. He just put it a little too close to the door last night. Of course, when your dad's 91 years old, the worst things come to mind. So that's how my Monday kicked off.

Just a few minutes ago, my husband called. His Monday started when he pulled up to his office in Lawrenceville. He thought something looked odd – the company logo and sign were not on the front door. Long story short, some punk with a BB gun was joyriding up and down the street at some point over the weekend, shooting out windows and doors all through the office park. Things like that really instill hope and anticipation when I think about the next generation.

Ahhh, and now I have to clear my mind and write cleverly and creatively. It's way too early for wine. Coffee will only make things worse (at least in my mind). I am going to shut down the laptop and spend some time with my dogs. That always seems to help.

Now I can say, "Well I never." I never thought in a million years that I'd get a phone call that would make me think my dad had gone crazy and we'd have to involve a SWAT team. I never in a million years thought that some loser would get a kick out of driving along an industrial thouroughfare, shooting out windows and doors for fun. I never want another day, Monday or otherwise, to start like this again.

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