The Night I Most
Regret
I glare
red eyed across the dance floor, and take another swig of my drink. I ain’t
regret anything so much as I do now. He said I was a natural, a natural, and I know for a fact that if
me old lady hadn’t stole that letter I’d be out there in fancy clothes and
gettin’ pitchers took of me. If only, if
only she hadn’t stole that letter. I finish my drink with one more large
swallow and go to get some more.
As I
take a step forward, a man steps in front of me. He has a brown face and brown
eyes and his curly hair is the first thing to catch my attention. He's round my age
and not bad lookin’. “Hey beautiful, fancy a dance?” He say to me his eyes
moving up and down my body.
Well why not? If it distracts me from how my
Momma betrayed me and stole the letter from the guy in the pitchers and ruined
my career, I’d gladly do anything. We dance for a little while and I start to
feel lively again. He flatters me in that seductive tone and I giggle. We flirt a little and I'm briefly reminded of my dream. If I was in the pitchers guys'd do this kind o thing to me all the time. But the thought is quickly vanquished from my tipsy head as we twirl and swing.
We dance one more dance and he turns to me. “How you fancy bein’ my wife?” He inquires. I realize this is a crystal chance to get away from my mother who doesn’t understand my talent! My new husband surely won’t steal letters from me! (The drink in my brainpan made me a little tipsy and unable to think clearly as well.) But then again...me old lady'd get really mad if I left...My head starts to pound and a fog takes over my mind. Before I confuse myself even more I grasp onto the little bit of sense I can make with my drunk brain and reply "yes." Biggest mistake of my life.
We dance one more dance and he turns to me. “How you fancy bein’ my wife?” He inquires. I realize this is a crystal chance to get away from my mother who doesn’t understand my talent! My new husband surely won’t steal letters from me! (The drink in my brainpan made me a little tipsy and unable to think clearly as well.) But then again...me old lady'd get really mad if I left...My head starts to pound and a fog takes over my mind. Before I confuse myself even more I grasp onto the little bit of sense I can make with my drunk brain and reply "yes." Biggest mistake of my life.
He lives in a ranch. A ranch. Who’d want to live there, when they could have had fancy
clothes and lived one o’ those rich people hotels?! And my husband, I don’ even
want to call him that. He’s so mean! He won’ even let me out o’ the house! What'd I ever see in him?! An
no one wants ta talk. Slim, a skinner here’s a nice lookin guy and he’s the only one of these guys whose even remotely civil ta me. The rest jus yell. Specially my husband. If you don do what
he wants you to, its yelling, yelling, and yelling. Not a single one of me give me the respect I'm owed. I coulda been in the pitchures! I betcha they couldn't even dream of commin near the pitchures! Instead these bindly buffs dream of the fatta the lan an rabbits. Imagine rabbits! They all so mean ta me when I coulda been in the pitchers but they can't even get a couple o rabbits! They even call me a tart
when I don’t do anything and they all think they’re all better than me jus cause I’m a woman. I’d rather be back with me old lady. Even if she is s letter stealer.