Miss Priss in her youth
My favorite sister, Miss Priss, who happens to be my one and only sister (except for my adopted sister, Evie) is not a “regular” on the Southern Rural Route because she currently lives in another state. Miss Priss has a perfectly ordinary 1950’s name like mine but it doesn’t fit her. Momma always said she had an iron fist in a velvet glove. I went along with that assessment as long as there wasn’t a bug in the room that needed killin’. Her iron fist had a melt down at the sight of a bug. When I wrote my memoirs in 2007 about being a domestic goddess drop out (not in publication), I gave her the nickname Miss Priss. I wanted to save her the embarrassment of being related to me or the rest of the family since she had been claiming for years that she had been dropped on Momma’s doorstep by roving gypsies. How this improved her status in life is beyond me. Momma agreed that Miss Priss was a fittin’ name.
Today is her birthday and she is in complete denial about getting older despite the fact that her Aging Meter is clanging and banging on the double nickel.
By the time my parents got around to her, they’d had some practice. The kid got the darkest brown hair and is probably the best looking of our bunch. However, this could change. If she doesn’t stop pulling those gray hairs out, she’s gonna be our BALD sister. Give it up, Priss. The Grim Reaper probably has a half-brother by the name of Wrinkle Reaper, who is in charge of all age-related body issues, including silver tresses. I’m sure he has your number.
Happy Birthday, kid.