Page 4 of Lulu’s Recipe for Cajun Sass

It didn’t help Tante Lulu’s opinion that Valcour was also in bed with the oil companies.

By the time they finished their meal and were sipping at cups of café au lait, Tante Lulu, wise old owl that she was, decided that enough was enough. “No more beatin’ around the bush,” she said, “Obviously, you have a problem that only I can solve; otherwise, you would’ve saved the small talk fer tomorrow at the birthday bash.”

To tell the truth, Mary Lou was having second thoughts about unloading her issues on the old lady. “Well, actually, it’s nothing to bother—”

“Pff! Thass why God put me here. To be bothered. Thass why he assigned St. Jude to be my partner.” Tante Lulu beamed with encouragement. “Doan matter whether it’s big or small. There’s somethin’ troubling you, girl, and I’m here to help.”

Immediately, tears welled in Mary Lou’s eyes. She’s pulling out the St. Jude card. Must be she thinks I’m hopeless. I am! Mary Lou wailed inwardly.

Tante Lulu reached two hands across the table, squeezed one of Mary Lou’s, and continued to hold on. “Tell me, honey.”

“Derek dumped me,” she confessed on a sob, then immediately lowered her voice when she noticed a couple at a nearby table look their way.

Tante Lulu nodded. “I wondered why you didn’t mention him. And you’re not wearing that friendship ring.”

“Promise ring,” Mary Lou corrected, then realized that it didn’t matter. The ring and the promise were gone.

“You were keepin’ company with that boy fer a long time,” her aunt pointed out.

“Yep. Two years. Ever since we were seniors in high school.”

The old lady narrowed her eyes suddenly, which caused the mascara clumps to stick together. “Did he cheat on you?”

“No, no,” Mary Lou said. “Not that I’m aware of. No, he said I’ve become…boring.”

Tante Lulu stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Girl, I thought it was something serious, like bein’ preggers. You aren’t, are you?”

“No!” Mary Lou exclaimed.

“Aw, shucks! I was kinda plannin’ on convertin’ my spare bedroom into a nursery fer you and the baby.”

“I am not pregnant,” Mary Lou declared emphatically. That’s all she would need, for her mother to get wind of a rumor about her only daughter about to make her a grandmother. And, frankly, Mary Lou was rather offended that Tante Lulu would think she was that dumb. “I’m on the pill, auntie.”

Tante Lulu put her hands on her ears. “Doan be tellin’ me stuff like that.”

Mary Lou was surprised, continually, by the old lady’s conflicting ideas. She could be as outrageous as any hell-raising senior citizen, a feminist from way back, but then adhere to her strict Catholic opinions on other things, like birth control.

“Anyhow, being boring is serious,” Mary Lou said, bringing the subject back around. “The ultimate insult, I think.”

“Boring, huh? Thass one thing no one has ever said about the women in this family.”

Mary Lou shrugged. “Guess I’m the exception.”

Tante Lulu studied her appearance, tapping a fingertip against her lips which were now minus color except for a red line around the edges. Mary Lou resisted the temptation to lean forward and use a napkin to wipe off the excess.

“Well, that just dills my pickle! You’re a beautiful girl, Mary Lou, and if brains were leather, that Derek wouldn’t have enough to saddle a pissant,” Tante Lulu concluded, getting a bit red in the face. “Mebbe yer hair could be fluffed up a bit, and it wouldn’t hurt to add a bit of rouge to yer cheeks, and, holy moley, tart up yer clothes once in a while, but other than that, that boy had no bizness callin’ you boring.”

“Is that all?” Mary Lou should have been offended, but it was hard to take Tante Lulu’s jibes to heart when she meant well. “Actually, I don’t think it’s my physical appearance that he means as boring. More my personality.” She turned on her male voice and imitated Derek by husking out, “All you talk about, Mary Lou, is horses, horses, horses. I swear, honey, you’d live in a stable if you could. And all you ever want to do is ride, ride, ride. Not that I don’t like a certain kind of riding. Ha, ha, ha! Think about it, sweetheart, you look down on my frat parties, but you’re the first one at a barbecue at some shit-stinky ranch or out roping or branding the animals. Be careful, sweetheart, or you’re gonna start lookin’ like a horse.”

Tante Lulu’s jaw dropped and she just stared at her for a moment. Then, she said, “What a schmuck! Did it ever occur to him that all he talks about is football? To some of us, tossing a ball around and men tacklin’ men to break their bones fer fun is bor-ing. And all those bulgy steroid muscles! Do they wanna look like Popeye? Eew!”

Tante Lulu had a point there. Derek played football for Tulane, and he spent all his spare time watching NFL games on TV or working out with weights, sometimes both at the same time.

“You never did like Derek, did you? I always figured it was because he wasn’t Cajun.”

“Nope. There are plenty of good non-Cajun men out there. But I suspicioned early on that he was using you to get close to yer cousin Andy. Mebbe get an in with the Saints’ big brass.”

Mary Lou felt her face flush. That thought had occurred to her, too.