Redneck Shower

Redneck Shower:  A coffee mug’s worth of Sanka residue and cold water thrown in your face as you sleep on the couch.

Redneck Baby: A five year old that you just now realize is your kid.

Redneck Baby Shower: (1) A watering can emptied over the kid’s head after he’s played with the pigs for an hour. (2) A party for a new mom that involves lots of old flannel and cowboy boots.

Tanis, The Redneck Mommy, has had a Redneck Baby. That is, she’s had a five year old. I know. She’s hasn’t had any of the long lead time that someone who has a baby the old fashioned way, after getting knocked up at the drive-in, would have. It’s happened so quickly: the idea was conceived, the thought gestated and developed, soundings taken and the first introduction made, laborious, sweating effort through bureaucratic contractions was endured, but suddenly, there’s a little dude sitting there at her ranch.

I can claim some small knowledge of matters redneck: I’ve had the coffee mug of Sanka and cold water thrown in my face as I slept on the couch. I’ve milked cows. I attended an elementary school you had to pass a pig farm to get to. I read Playboy magazines in a hayloft and swam in a sand quarry. No matter how suburban my existence now, I’ll always be a bit of a redneck.

But I’ve got nothing on Tanis. Her kids are doomed, and this new one, her son, a son she didn’t even know for five years but who is so obviously her son no matter that the government calls it an adoption, well, he is doomed thrice over. Because not only will Tanis be raising yet another redneck, but her already rednecked brood can help destroy this kid’s dentition and fashion sense. Lookout dude, they’re coming for your sophistication and they’re bringing you some overalls.

Congratulations Tanis. I’m awed and proud.

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