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Southern Humor: GARDEN CLUB GAB
by Beth Boswell Jacks
Curious about what goes on at those Deep South Garden Club meetings?Here's a bit of fiction from the wacky mind of Ye Editor.
One of my favorite "writing targets" is the prim/proper Southern woman. I know her well and love her unconditionally. After all, I am most definitely that woman. A learned philosopher once said, "If one cannot laugheth at oneself, one cannot laugheth at the world."
Actually, I made up that little saying. I like the way it sounds though--sort of high falutin' and unbelievably wise, don't you think?
The following bit of fiction, "Garden Club Gab," is dedicated to all my flower lady friends who loveth to laugheth at themselves, and to all the clubwomen everywhere who have kept the wheels of civilization steadily turning.
Beans Feduccia never meant to upset the ladies of the Riverford Demoiselles Club at their August meeting several weeks ago; however, when he launched into an explanation of stamens and pollination and all, he had them fanning so hard they didn't even need the ceiling fans.
Now, these ladies are no amateurs in gardening circles around here. They know their flower arranging backwards and forwards. Width, height, texture, color--they know it. They've traveled to rose shows and day lily shows and you-name-it shows all over the South. They are sophisticated women of the world, no shrinking violets, these gals. They just didn't think Beans needed to use language and visual aids that were so, well, titillating.
Mary Margaret Poindexter is the club president, and she's the one who's getting all the irate phone calls. Beans Feduccia lives next door to her, so Mary Margaret is truly caught between a rock and a hard place. She's trying to be a Pax de Fleur, so to speak, but she admits Beans probably did NOT understand the importance the Demoiselles place on conducting a dignified meeting. They even have a parliamentarian, Bernice Abbott, who's been to Atlanta for training, and who has her own embossed copy of Roberts' Rules of Order. This is serious business.In the first place, Beans was late for the meeting. The ladies were there promptly, of course, and even had time to finish reading their correspondence and minutes. That was well and good, but the whole first half of the meeting was most tense--what would they do for a program if Beans Feduccia didn't show? How could they meet the state garden club requirements without an August program? If they didn't have a speaker, would the frozen lime sherbet punch be thawed sufficiently to serve thirty minutes early?
Well, Beans walked in twenty minutes late, looking like a cock of the walk, grinning his fool head off. He's thought he was a charmer ever since he got Halloween prince in the seventh grade right in this very town, and he's ridden the coat tails of that honor all his life. He pretty much thinks he can get away with anything.
So, he strolled in. Sauntered right to the podium where Mary Margaret was trying to finish business, put his arm around her, and said something like, "Well, girls, I'm here to explain to y'all about the birds and the bees!" He had all these risque charts propped against the wall--charts showing suggestive sorts of things (long things, round things, oblongs). It was just too much.
If I hadn't had to miss the meeting because of a dental appointment I could tell you more, but all of my information came from Mary Margaret, who is not doing much talking. (She's also the county Republican Women chairman, so she has to know how to handle things with decorum. She's been off for training too.)
Anyway, Beans Feduccia will never be invited to speak to the Demoiselles again. I suppose he'll just have to rest on his Halloween prince laurels because he'll never be sought after on the speaking circuit around here--not after this tawdry presentation. Honest and truly, Beans could have gotten down on his knurly knees to apologize and not a single lady would have unpursed her lips. Needless to say, the silly man didn't get a refill on his lime punch either.
Beth Boswell Jacks writes a humorous syndicated newspaper column called SNIPPETS and has published stories and poems in numerous magazines and small literary journals. She's the author of 3 books, GRIT, GUTS, AND BASEBALL and SNIPPETS I and II, and is the editor of USADEEPSOUTH.COM. She's never been a member of a garden club, which is probably obvious.Contact Beth Jacks at bethjacks@hotmail.com
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Read about Beth's SNIPPETS books -- two collections of her columns.
COMMENTS:
From: Betty B.
Message: Too too funny. You've done it again.
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From: Kent Fletcher
Message: Because my mother, Madeline, was in the Cleveland Flower Club, the one up on 5th Avenue and Maple, I was rotflmao at this article. I'm sure she would have been able to appreciate your humor!
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From: Tom Fisher
Message: Great story, Beth - Truman Capote couldn't have told it any better!
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