Talking Turkeys

Margie: Edna, I'm as mad as an old wet hen! I went to Gracie's Market this morning to buy the ingredients for my Green Bean Casserole. I never saw such high prices in all my life. I took Gracie aside and told her she needs to lower her prices. She wasn't very nice and asked what would happen if she didn't. I told her she'd be sorry because you would not be happy if Thanksgiving rolled around and you didn't get your favorite casserole.

Edna:  But Margie, I thought you were going to Paris for Thanksgiving this year?  What happened, did the government finally put you on the no-fly list?

Margie: No, nitwit, I decided to stay home and roast an old turkey that's lived here far too long to suit me!

Edna:  Try as you might, I won't let you ruin my Thanksgiving.  Why, I'll even make you your favorite dessert, pecan pie!  That ought to sweeten you up.  I know how much you love your pecans, and we can only afford them during the holidays.

Sister, since I'm making this pie for you, why don't you give me the money for the pecans?  They're about $10 for a shelled bag.  Go get your coin purse, I'll wait.

Margie: I'm not paying when you claim you're making the pie for me. Mrs. Smith makes a better pecan pie than you do anyway. Why don't you try to sweeten up and let's have one Thanksgiving when you're not so dang crabby?

Edna:  You first, sister.

Margie: I'm going out to eat and you can sit home all alone.

Edna:  Don't let the door hit you on the way out!

Margie: Edna, kiss my crabby Thanksgiving grits!

Margie's Home Cooking

Margie: Edna, I invited Cousin T for dinner tonight. I declare, that boy beats all. He's just like all these other young people who think home cooking means microwaving or opening a box.

Remember that time I told him I'd made a cake from scratch and he wouldn't eat it? I knew something was wrong because he eats anything. He finally told me he wasn't going to eat anything made from scraps. Lord a mercy!

Edna: Margie, don't you be too hard on Cousin T. You know that half the time you're talking to him he's got his head in the clouds, thinking of some project or another. It's not his fault that he misunderstood you about that cake. Besides, you know he loves your cooking--although goodness knows why. You cook about as well as a pig can knit a pair of socks. It's a wonder you haven't given us the ptomaine poisoning before now.

Margie: You're a lying liar, Edna. I haven't noticed you laying down your shovel or not eating when I cook. You're just mad because Mama left me her recipe book.

Mama knew all about cooking a fine meal. She once said that's how she caught a good husband. Daddy sure loved everything she fixed. Remember her iron skillets? And her fried chicken?

Edna: Margie, the only reason I tolerate your cooking is because you pitch a fit and sulk for days if I don't eat what you fix. You're as bad as a two-year-old sometimes.

And yes, Mama surely did know how to cook. She may have left you her recipe book, but she sure didn't leave you her know-how. I wouldn't mind having a taste of her fried chicken again, that's the truth. And her pecan pie was this close to sinful. What are you going to fix for Cousin T?

Margie: You won't be getting any but I'm cooking fried chicken and gravy, mashed potatoes, hot biscuits, green peas, and a Death by Chocolate cake.

Cousin T will sleep for days after that meal.

Edna: Oh, merciful heavens! I'd best call Cousin T and warn that boy not to come to dinner. If he eats all that, there's gonna be death at the table tonight for sure, but not by chocolate. Don't you remember the last time you cooked that kind of meal for him? He spent the rest of the night getting his stomach pumped. It wasn't pretty.

Margie: Pretty is as pretty does, Edna.