Southern Legitimacy Statement: I was born and raised in the frosty Minnesota where the winters are long and harsh, and the sight of green grass is a memory to be cherished. That doesn’t mean that I’m as cold as the weather, though, and after visiting the south on numerous occasions, I feel I’ve picked up some of the alluring hospitality that makes it so welcoming. This has sustained me (and my writing) while I’m sipping hot chocolte in my icy homestead.
Mrs. Gilick rearranged her cucumbers while her squash and her tomatoes went to war. She separated the troublemakers as she ambled over to the meat counter and perused their selection of briskets and hams. “Excuse me,” she called to the attendant. “I’d like a pound of your finest pork-chops, and perhaps some tenderloin if it’s not infested by salamanders.” Those pesky newts could pop up anywhere.
“Coming right up,” said the giant green ogre. He gathered her selection and flopped them into her basket, which meant it was now time for the most dangerous part of Gilicks journey. The bakery.
The man-eating muffins had become a real problem. Last week a pastry chef went in to frost some cupcakes, and all that remained of him were the tips of his oven mitts. It was tragic really.
Her targets were the croissants – a mere thirty paces north – but even though the patisserie looked deserted, those muffins could be anywhere. She danced around the chocolate-chip cookies and made it to her objective without confrontation. As soon as she laid hands on her buttery trophies, however, a poppy-seed monster attacked from the rear.
They had her surrounded. Blueberries and banana nuts descended on her from above but Mrs. Gilick kicked like a chorus girl and made it out alive. She wrestled her package away from a bran muffin and sped to the checkout where she paid for her provisions.
Victory! Another successful shopping trip. She wasn’t sprouting slimy tentacles and she hadn’t been abducted by the pack of mindless cart attendants. She would make it home by five o’clock and have dinner ready with minutes to spare. As Mrs. Gilick pulled out her car keys, however, a black hole suddenly unfurled and swallowed her vehicle in one gulp.
Perhaps she’d spoken too soon.