BOOK CLUB FRIDAY -- GUEST AUTHOR DEBORAH SHARP

Today’s guest author at Book Club Friday was supposed to be Deborah Sharp. Deborah, a Florida native and former USA Today reporter,  writes the funny, Southern-fried ''Mace Bauer Mystery'' series, featuring Mace's wacky mama. However, instead of Deborah showing up, Mama took over, as she so often does. If you’d like to learn more about Deborah, visit her at www.DeborahSharp.com. Hopefully, her mama hasn’t taken over her website. -- AP

 

Well, I guess the first order of business is for me to apologize to Anastasia and all the nice folks at American Woman magazine for all the nasty things I've said about New Jersey. That gal couldn't be nicer, and she's proved the untruth of every single thing I've learned from TV's Jersey Shore. Well, maybe not everything. Some of Anastasia's friends seem to glow with suspicious tans, and I did spot one of them sporting a hairdo like Snooki's. Believe me, where I work at Hair Today Dyed Tomorrow Beauty Parlor in Himmarshee, Fla., we'd know what to do with that awful pouf. We'd deflate it right quick, like sticking a pin in an ugly blister.

All right, back to my apology . . . you have to understand, those of us down here in the South can feel a little sensitive about Northerners. When you've had to listen for years and years to transplants moving down, then telling you how every single thing in the world is better Up North, well you're about ready to hog-tie and skin the next know-it-all Yankee who opens his or her big mouth. Even so, I have nothing against Northerners. I even married one: Sal Provenza, a proud son of the Bronx. That's in New York City, y'all. He's my fifth husband, but let's keep that between us, okay?

It wasn't so easy to be nice before the wedding, when I first met Sal's bulldozer of a cousin-in-law, C'ndee Ciancio. But being a well-bred Southern lady, I refrained from knocking her teeth down her throat, just to watch her spit 'em out single-file. Someone else wasn't as restrained, however. This gal ended up at my bridal shower, rolling around with C'ndee in spilled punch and smashed cake and ruining the hostess's lilac shag carpet  That was after C'ndee had hired the male stripper to come dance at my bachelorette party at the Speckled Perch restaurant. You should have heard the gasps from my Sunday School group. But, you know, that turned out all right after all. It's amazing how much sin you can overlook after a  case of sweet pink wine  and a few rounds of Boot Scootin' Boogie with a shirtless cowboy in leather chaps.

Now, I can't say the same for the wedding itself. Oh, sure, my daughters looked gorgeous in their Scarlett O'Hara gowns, even if my middle girl Mace never did stop complaining about having to wear a lacy hat, carry a parasol, and tote a cute drawstring purse, all in the same ruffled lime-sherbet shade as her dress. And my Pomeranian, Teensy, looked adorable as the ring bearer, in his little satin vest and doggy top hat. Still, it definitely put a crimp in the proceedings, finding the caterer dead in the VFW's kitchen even before the first pig-in-the-blanket was passed.

Anyhoo, you can read all about my wedding in MAMA GETS HITCHED . It's the third book that Fancy Pants author, Deborah Sharp, has written featuring my stories. She tries to take all the credit, but all she really does is write down my life. Where's the skill in that? If you happen to meet her, be sure to remind her whose name is in the title of Mama Does Time, Mama Rides Shotgun, and this latest one, Mama Gets Hitched.

And speaking of weddings, After all the mess was cleaned up, my oldest girl, Maddie, got some lovely pictures of My Special Day. Maybe Anastasia would want to run a spread in American Woman magazine? Everybody in Himmarshee is calling it the Wedding of the Century. Frankly, I think Mace was being a smart aleck when she named it that, but it did seem to catch on.

You'll let me know if it runs in the magazine, won't you Anastasia honey? I'll ask my cousin's boy, Bubba, to pick up some copies at one of those New York City newsstands. He's a dancer now, in those shows on Broadway street. He's asked everyone to quit calling him Bubba and call him Bertrand instead. Which is fine by me. That's who he is, after all.

Phone's ringing, so I better sign off. I bet it's my youngest, Marty. She's taking me to the Home on the Range Feed Store and Clothing Emporium, where they just got in that new sherbet-colored pantsuit I wanted.  Bye-bye, y'all. Oh, yeah ... and I'm sorry about New Jersey.

Love, Mama


Hmm...I'm thinking if we got Deborah's Mama and my Mama together, we'd have one very interesting get-together! Deborah is giving away a copy of MAMA GETS HITCHED to one lucky blog reader who has posted a comment this week. So if you haven't posted a comment so far this week, better do so now. The winner will be announced tomorrow. -- AP