Boy, you part squirrel?

DAILY PROMPT RESPONSE

As a kid, my idea of fresh fruit came from the market on a white tray wrapped in Saran Wrap. Of course, I ate apples from apple trees and stuff. However, I ran into many apples that needed to be ripe more or were too ripe. So, to solve this problem, the stuff on the tray was always right—well, at least of the time.

I married a southern woman, where dinner was a specific time and all that. I always looked at her strangely because I was hungry when I was hungry. One day, we were at her mother’s for dinner. Of course, my wife and her sisters had to show up early to assist in preparing the meal. The “men folk” had to sit on the carport until they sent for us. I was the youngest and the newest in the group. I sat there listening to garbage that older men sling at younger ones.

Suddenly, I was starving, so I went to tell my wife I would get something to eat while waiting for them to finish. You would think I had committed a cardinal sin or something. All my sister-inlaws started having a conniption about what I just said. Now, I was newly married, and my sister – inlaw’s had absolutely no sway. However, my mother-in-law made a sound in a tone that I recognized from my own mother. Quickly, I prepared myself for an exit. However, I came to my rescue, seeing my death was imminent. I didn’t know. I swear. How dare I walk into a kitchen of southern women cooking dinner and announce I was getting food from someplace. I want to point out here that making this announcement in any kitchen, anywhere in the world, most likely will have the same effect. Let’s just chalk this mistake to youthful ignorance.

My wife matched right outside, past the “men folk” laughing about something. I was hungry, and I got mean when I got hungry. There was a peach tree at the end of the driveway. My wife suggested I eat a few peaches to hold me over.

“From where?” I asked, looking confused and worried at once.

My wife returned my look. “The tree babe,” she said, pointing at the tree with several peaches on the ground around the trunk. I looked at my wife sternly.
“I’m not eating those,” I said firmly and began walking away, muttering over my shoulder, ” I only eat fresh peaches, you know, the ones on the white tray!” I had the classic duh expression on my face. It was something I used regularly back then.

My wife stood shaking her head and started laughing. She was holding her side and everything. I know I could occasionally be the source of extreme levity, and I didn’t feel this was one of those moments.

“They don’t get any fresher than these, hun, right off the tree,” she continued as she walked away. So, I tasted a peach. I was fully prepared to render I proper, “Woman, I told you.” However, I needed to be corrected. Those peaches were the best thing I had ever tasted. I ate one, then another, and another. Suddenly, I snapped out of my euphoric bliss.

“Boy, get down from there!” I hear a voice shout as I’m continuing stuffing more peaches down my throat.

“Girl, get your husband!” my mother-in-law told her daughter and looked back up at me. Boy, you part squirrel?”