Talks with Mama

As is common among good Southerners, I call my mother "Mama." Here I am listening to my mother tell a story about my cousins visiting her. 

“It gets really hot in there where the boys sleep, but they closed the windows and curtains anyway. I think they were scared. They’re 14 and 12.” 

“They’re from Knoxville, Tennessee. Maybe they are scared of the wildlife out there between the Tetons and the Big Hole Mountains.” 

“Yes, probably. I told them about the bear who climbed the fence and pooped in the yard just outside their room.”

  

“Maybe you shouldn’t have told them that, mama.”  

“Yeah, because then they went and told the 4-year-old…”