“You are not going out with that boy unless his parents are driving and that's that. I'm not just Spitting Grits here, young lady!”

. . . My father, John Thomas Cravey, USAF, to me in 1956.

Conspiracy of Librals

Yes. It all became clear when I read a thought-filled, idea-provoked, brain-sated letter to the editor of the Tuscaloosa News, Monday, January 31, from copious writer Freddie Barrett.

He observed that librals (the Southern pronunciation of “liberals”) have conspired to spread speed bumps all over town on otherwise smooth roads in our city. His prescience illuminated the whole idea of conspiracy theories.

Yes. As he noted, “I cannot help but think that there must be some do-good liberal [sic] behind these monstrosities to safe driving. Only one of them [speed bumps] can bring stupidity to a perfectly smooth road.”

Suddenly I realized a sorrow-mired possibility: It’s those same librals – conspiratators -- who have snuck in during a dark and stormy night to trash the back seat of my car.


It looks like it’s been rummaged by a band of possums or raccoons or ruffians. There’s melted Star Bursts, M&Ms, and lollipops, thousand of Nerds of all colors, Joanna Leigh’s school projects (including a paper doll George Washington, the Founder of our Country), Clorox wipes, extra clothes and panties, wrappers for all kinds of sugar-laden candy; it’s simply a grotesque heap back there. Plus, those same librals must’ve poured syrup or juice or something all over Joanna Leigh’s car seat.



As Barnett asks, “When is enough enough?”



“Let my backseat alone, librals!” I shout to the Heavens.


Oh, no. As I typed that last sentence, it hit me. Barnett could very well be talking about Libras, those scales-of-justice-holding, trashy conspiratators born between September 23 and October 22. Not my dispatriotic compatriot librals.

Boy, is that a relief.


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