Back from Arkansas!

Mother Snob’s Family, circa 1970-something before The Snob was born in Newport, Ark. Granny Snob is the woman with the little girl in the dress on her lap. That is Big Sis. Mother Snob, Big Sis and my mother, is the foxy Snob with the afro behind the rock fence with her hand on her hip trying to channel Teresa Graves.

Granny Snob had a great 80th birthday party. All her children and most of her grandchildren, great-grandchildren and siblings showed up. My hair still smells like cigarettes, but hopefully I won’t die from sleeping on the family room couch while Granny lit up the Winston’s on the sun porch. Big Sis and I only had to endure one relative, Uncle Bubba, asking us when we were going to give our parents some grandchildren. Sis and I have come up with the reliable answer of “when you find us some husbands.”

Finding suitable husbands is a chronic problem for the beautiful and gregarious women of The Snob family. There are plenty of cute lil’ crumb-snatchers in our clan, but fathers and son-in-laws? Not so much.

Newport was Newport. It’s a small rural town of less than 7,000 people. It’s all soybean fields, a Riceland rice storage facility, a Wal-Mart and HUD housing. But I’m glad that my family lives in Newport and not Blacksville or Shoffner where my mother lived as a child. At least Newport has a McDonalds. Those two towns aren’t really towns. They’re dirt roads and forests with names.

3 thoughts on “Back from Arkansas!

  1. Yeah, I’m glad that my family doesn’t bother to ask me when I’m getting married and producing grandchildren. My fam knows what’s up. They know what kind of men are out here nowadays.

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