LET MY WORDS BE FEW

The following is a true story, as I remember it, from my childhood.  I was about 7 years old and was peeking out from behind my mother's apron.  Hope you enjoy the story.  Leeanna

Slightly 5 foot 1 inch tall and sporting flaming red hair, which was actually auburn enhanced by Miss Clairol, my mother stepped onto the elevated front porch.  With one hand on her boney hip, and the other shaking a pointing finger, she fearlessly addressed the motorcycle gang, that had just taken unprecedented liberties with her freshly manicured front lawn and her beloved monkey grass and petunia-lined sidewalk.  Well-heard, over the sound of 13 revving Harley's, Dorris barked out her orders with the authority of a Hitler to his underlings. "GET THOSE BLANKETY-BLANK BIKES OFF OF MY BLANKETY-BLANK GRASS, RIGHT NOW!!!".  

I was captivated by the way my mother was able to sound out her orders so loudly, while at the same time balance a freshly lit Winston filterless cigarette out of the corner of her Merle Norman painted lips.  Horrified, her teenage rebellious son, who had just returned from California with these goliath beings on the lawn, abandoned his own bike in a flash and leapt onto the porch in order to save our french-twisted mother's uninformed, spunky life.  I heard my brother in a loud panicky whisper say, "MOM! HUSH! You don't know who you are yelling at! Those are THE HELL'S ANGELS!".  My mother's reply? "WELL, HELL'S BELLS! I DON'T CARE WHO THEY ARE"! She yelled even louder, "THEY CAN GET THEIR BLANKETY BLANK ARSES OFF MY BLANKETY BLANK GRASS OR ELSE!!".

No one was more surprised than me, when I saw twelve, 200-pound Hell's Angels, carefully back their Harley's off my mother's grass and thunderously slink away.