She leaned her elbow into my ribs. "You can take me to Chicago for free drinks anytime, dahlin'."
How's your accent? Can you turn a one-syllable word into four or five syllables full of sirr-up (syrup)? She could.
Who could? Camellia can.
As I mentioned a long time ago, I'm tired of the word cougar to describe a woman who has reached the age where she knows what she likes and gets what she wants.
However, Camella likes being called a cougar, so what can I do?
Eyes that flash melt a frozen cube of butter on a stack of pecan pancakes.
Speaking of which, how do you pronounce the word for a nut that is shelled and used to make a favorite Southern pie?
Do you use the pronunciation that implies a tin cylinder that kids used to use when they couldn't find no bathroom around: pee'-can?
Or do you taste the word on your lips before your tongue and vocal chords get all twisted out of shape, rolling the word around before announcing your pronounced enunciation: puh-cawn'-uh?
Put Camellia in the latter category.
Camellia makes fine art and vintage wine look like stick figures and Scope mouthwash.
Camellia has never heard the word "no" in her life and never plans to. She was the belle of the ball at 12, 24, 36, 48 and ... well, that's far enough, isn't it? "After a while, age is such a useless number to describe agelessness, isn't it, sweetie?" That's Camellia leaning over my shoulder and making sure I, as a gentleman, keep her ageless beauty in perspective.
Camellia wants me to take her to Chicago where, she's told, men buy drinks for Southern women just to hear them say a single word.
In other words, I've got to cut this blog entry short so I can pack my J.C Higgins suitcase from Sears, Roebuck and Co., that used to belong to my daddy when he served in the Army and was stationed in Germany, the case covered with faded stickers from places like "Rothenburg o. d. Tauber" and "Dinkelsbühl."
Can't keep a lady waiting! Y'all know what Ah mean, dontcha?
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