Demon Copperhead

by Barbara Kingsolver

Betsy by name. I was disappointed, wishing for a Black Widow head of kick-ass red hair, at the least.

So this is going to be option three, not proud, not forgetting. Not easy.

Probably everybody has had some golden patch of life like that, where everything was going to be okay thanks to the people that had your back, and sadly you wasted it, by being ticked off over some ignorant thing like a busted TV.

But I thought all kids got a mammaw, along with a caseworker and free school lunch and the canned beanie-weenies they gave you in a bag to take home for weekends. Like, assigned. Where else was I going to get one?

Government assigned mammaw TM

If you are one of the few that still hasn’t been, let me tell you what a city is. A hot mess not easily escaped.

What is the deal with women, somebody tell me. A day can be going to hell in a hornet’s nest, you’re fixing to lose your breakfast, but she’s still going to get her homework done.

This is what I would say if I could, to all smart people of the world with their dumb hillbilly jokes: We are right here in the stall. We can actually hear you.