Cleo, Mister and Sissy...Part II

...Mister turned around slowly and headed back toward the car presumably to get his spit cup grumbling under his breath the whole way. "Lordy, that man is got the manners of a orange katan, what's it called, you know, one of them monkeys," Cleo said. "Orangutan," I volunteered. "Yea, that's it! Clyde. Right turn Clyde. Wasn't that Mr. Clint Eastwood's monkey that starred in all of those any which man I can movies." "Um, I don't think it was his monkey. And the movies were called Any Which Way But Loose, I think," I said. "Well, I don't know 'bout you, but I'll take my man loose, monkey like swinging from the bed posts or any which way I can, he he. Mister don't swing like he used too!" "Cleo, stop talking! That lady don't need to be hearing things like that. You said you was gonna watch yourself," said Mister. Meanwhile, Sissy was looking over the goods left out on the tables and holding up one item after the other asking how much I wanted for it. I'd name a price and she'd nod her head in agreement and put it aside. Cleo and Mister were fussing at each other and occasionally looking over at Sissy and the pile growing steadily beside her. I stopped putting away stuff, because the way things were looking, Sissy was gonna buy everything I had left. "What are you doing tonight?" Cleo asked. "You wanna come go with us to the singing? It's out there on the four lane and you turn right on Upper Dowdy Doo Lane and turn right at the big red bird house. You can't miss it." "Well, it's probably going to be after dark before I get finished putting all of this stuff up," I replied. "Why, pshaw!" Cleo said. "We'd be glad to help you put it away. 'Side's, when Sissy gets through shopping, there ain't going to be much left..."

Cleo, Mister and Sissy...Part I

It was late Saturday afternoon and I was beginning to pack up the remnants from my weekend yard sale when an old beat up station wagon pulled slowly down the driveway. I glanced in their direction and was met with three hands stuck out the window all waving in unison at me. "Hey! Are you closed? Do we have time to pick through your leftovers? I told Mister here that we needed to get our butts, pardon my French, in gear or we was gonna miss all the sales and be late for the Singing," the elderly woman said. "Nope, you're not too late. Have a look around, you might find something that you can't live without and it'll be less for me to pack up," I answered. The car stopped and out climbed the old woman who was wearing orange lounging pants, a deep purple moo moo and black Chuck Taylor running shoes. Her wig sat perched slightly askew on her head and her straw hat sat off center the other way giving her a slightly lopsided look. She approached me immediately, extended her hand and said, "I'm Cleo, that's Mister, who I been shacked up with since '76, when my husband up and died on me. Ain't got no strings on him, he's free to come and go as he pleases, s'long as he pleases me. He He!" I shook her hand and she continued. "That lady there is his daughter, Sissy. She stays with us sometimes, usually when her old man goes on a drunk and starts beating up on her. I, swan, for the likes of me can't fathom the way some women put up with them goings on. I told Mister here if he ever laid a hand on me I'd cut it off as fast as I could pull my knife out. You're old man ever do that to you? Get yourself a knife, that'll keep him in line. Look at me, going off at the mouth like that. Let me get here and see what you got for sale. I'm proud to say I don't ever buy nothin' new, I get all my stuff at yard sales. Hey Mister, you got any more of that snuff with you? Let me get some, this little lady might want some. You like my outfit? I got it last week over at the community thrift store." Mister, wearing bib overalls, a Grateful Dead t-shirt and a John Deere cap, walked over to us and offered the aforementioned can of snuff. I declined politely and so did Cleo. Mister shrugged his shoulders, drew his head back, and spat out a big ole drop of brown gooey tobacco juice that left a trail from is chin halfway down to his boots. "Wipe yourself Mister! This lady don't want to see your spit. Go get your cup..."