I gotted in trouble at Sunday School today acause Mrs. Pearson telled everbody, hurry inside, childrens; an' I beed hurryin' too slow. But it weren't my own fault; I jus' couldn't not stop sniffin' everthin' on the sidewalk. Then Mrs. Pearson hollered on me, NOW, GEORGE! Alls I done is, I sayed, hold on a sex, I's smellin' a bitch here; an' the next thing what I knowed, Mrs. Pearson thumped me on my nose with her Bible. She sayed how dares me for to call her a smelly bitch. Which, I never even. She don't gots shiny fur, no fancy tail; she don't even smell right. A course, Mrs. Pearson hadda go an' tole on me an' then Momma beed mad, too. I tried a splain what I weren't not even rude. I tole her, Momma, why is I gonna call Mrs. Pearson a smelly bitch? She jus' bees a floppy skin girl what smells bad like you, Momma. Then guess what Momma done? Thump me on my nose with her purse. I can't not hardly smell what so all, now. Prawly I shoulda jus' let them keep on betendin' they was bitches.
No comments:
Post a Comment