Aunt Mary's Dire Prediction

originally posted: late June/early July 2001

Brought to you by Aunt Mary from up the street. She's not just Aunt Mary. She's Aunt Mary From Up The Street.

I met Aunt Mary FUTS on my recent trip to Boonville, MO, Mother Media's hometown. Aunt Mary FUTS, who was married to Grandpa's brother (the same Grandpa we sought in the wrong cemetery), lives UTS from the house where Mother grew up (the same house that was recently sold at auction under the auspices of the buried St. Joseph). She dropped by one morning during our stay to catch Mom up on all the happenings on Thoma St., of which she owns a great deal. What interested me was not so much her news, but her delivery, for Aunt Mary FUTS spoke every sentence in the hushed and measured tones of one pronouncing the gravest of diagnoses. Every item of gossip carried the weight of terminal illness; every speculation bore a foreboding of disaster. They way she said, "Have a nice day," it sounded like it was going to be our last day on Earth. Every word out of her mouth was a dire prediction, but in the nicest possible way, dear.