“Ge’challs asses on outdoors!”
My Bible-thumping, God-fearing Auntie Gerry rarely cursed and never took a drink of liquor in her entire life that I can recall. A marvelously curvaceous woman, her hefty flesh cinched with the triple-bolted girdle, she was light on her feet and, with the record player needle dropped on the right song, Gerry Ross could swing and swag a dazzling “Lindy Hop.” It took a lot to get my Mama’s peace-loving sister riled up, but my cousins and I had a knack for such things.
There was no telling what set her off that time.