“Sue” Beth and Ruth Ann play a new travel game called ‘Redneck Girls.’
My girl friends and I have found a new way to amuse ourselves and the general public at the same time.
We discovered this innocent past-time several months ago while on a trip to visit a high school chum in Austin, Texas. Here we were, an odd-wad collection of baby booming buddies, trying to hang onto our youth – and just young enough to remember how we once did it.
We found ourselves stuffed into a airplane with hundreds of high powered cosmopolitan “suits,” all working feverishly on their laptops and blackberries. You could tell they were under a lot of pressure, and we thought they might like a little levity to take the edge off their stress.
We decided to play “Redneck Women.” Here’s how it’s done, in case you want to try it. It helps if you happen to have at least one-quarter redneck blood pumping through your veins. I’m proud to say I have more than that.
Now this game may not be politically correct and for sure it will offend our high school English teacher, but we’ll give equal time to another segment of society on our next trip.
Besides, our generational gender gets maligned more than the Salem witches.
I got to go first since I agreed to take the window seat. The plane was airborne and the captain had just welcomed us aboard. He announced the cabin service would begin shortly. My move.
“Wassat, Norma Jean?,” I asked my girl friend in the most nasal tone I could muster up. “I thought you said we was gonna see a picture show? They ain’t said nothin’ bout no picture show.”
“Naw, Emma Jane,” squawked Norma Jean in a voice that could be heard clear up in the cockpit. “Don’t you know nothin’? They’s gonna give us some free food, I thank.”
“Lookit this here!,” I said as I released the tray into my lap. “Lordy mercy. What’ll they thank of next. A table come clean out of that chair – you need to get Bubba to build you one of these on the Barcalounger.”
I leaned over Norma Jean to punch Ruth Ann who was sitting on the aisle pretending (wishing) she had no idea who we were.
“Ruth Ann Stafford, put down that barf bag. It don’t mean you can take home leftovers. That’s sos you can blow into when we starts goin down. Keeps yore ears from poppin.”
This is where the fun begins. The gentleman in front of us raised up like he was checking the exits, but we knew he just wanted to check out the source of this oddball conversation. Score one point for me. I’m in the lead.
It was Norma’s turn. She was ready.
“Shut up Emma Jane, and stop leaning over,” she warned. You could tip this plane rat on its side. I told Bubba and Mama, if we was to crash, my silver plated gravy boat can’t never be used by another woman.”
The two men in front of us began to whisper. Darn. Norma automatically gets two points. Getting two people to talk about you is twice as good as getting someone to peer over the seat.
Ruthie was getting into the swing of the game. Her turn.
“Did ya’ll see Sue Beth? She got put way back yonder,” she noted, standing and pointing to Beth who was several rows back.
The perfectly coifed lady sitting across the aisle from Ruthie couldn’t contain herself any longer.
“May I ask where you ladies are from”,” she ventured, covering her nose with her hand as if she might breathe in some unsavory germs.
“We’re with the CIA,” whispered Ruthie. “Do you have clearance to sit by us?”
Score three for Ruthie. Game, set, match.