"Foot dool!" Grandpa told Dorris. "When I was young, we rode 'em all on a rail! Many's the shivaree I helped pull off! But you know something, boys? We've been laughing a good bit here tonight about weddings and infare dinners and shivarees and all. I'm here to tell you—laying all jokes aside—that the day a-body marries is just about the most important day of his life. My advice to you, Clyde, and you too, Dorris, is to look around. If a man wants to enjoy his daily bread after he's prayed for it, he'd sure better be particular who he picks to stir the dough!"
Chapter 8
I was learning fast.
I learned why you have to have Christmas Eve Day before you can have Christmas. It's so you can sit on the kitchen floor and string popcorn to hang on the big tree at church. Mierd told me that. And she was in a good humor, even laughing, when she said it.
The next minute, though, Mierd was fussing, saying I was bad, tattling to Mama.
"Mama, just look at Bandershanks! You ought'a get a switch to her! She's eating up every grain of this popcorn! Won't be enough left to go from one limb to another, much less all round the Christmas tree!" Mierd jerked the pan of popcorn out of my hands and held it up toward Mama. "Look, Mama!"
"Mama, Mierd's telling you wrong! I just eat the ones that crack when I punch my needle in 'em!"
Mama didn't even look around. She spread another dampened pillowcase on the ironing board and pressed her hot iron back and forth, back and forth, along the crocheted trimming.
As soon as Mierd set the pan back on the floor between our feet, I reached for more corn.
"Bandershanks, you're clumsy with your needle on purpose! See how long my string is? And look at yours! I bet you ain't got fourteen grains on it. Quit grabbing all the biggest grains!"