What in the World?!: A Southern Woman's Guide to Laughing at Life's Unexpected Curveballs and Beautiful Blessings - Brossura

Morgan, Leanne

Brossura

ISBN 13: 9798217013982

Casa editrice: Diversified Publishing, 2024

Riassunto

The “Mrs. Maisel of Appalachia” packs a hilarious punch with real talk about what it’s like to be a woman today—from rebelling against the latest diet trends to dealing with perimenopausal mean girls and attending rock concerts in middle age.
 
For a long time, no one pulling the strings in the comedy world thought that a woman over fifty from rural Tennessee could make it in the industry. But Leanne Morgan has defied the odds, reaching millions with her musings on hormones, low-rise britches, Weight Watchers, and her opposites-attract relationship with her husband, Chuck.
 
In her charming southern accent, Morgan brings readers inside her quest to find her voice after spending many years trying to figure out what that meant. Along the way, we learn how she grew up as a butcher’s daughter, landed a husband with health insurance, honed her stand-up technique selling jewelry at house parties, embraced the glories of aging, and surrendered to the comfort of wearing big flesh-toned panties.
 
Equal parts warm and hilarious, this book is a must-read by one of comedy’s rising stars—reminding you that every time life leaves you asking “What in the world?!,” something good is bound to come out of it someday.

Su questo libro

Informazioni sull?autore

Leanne Morgan is a comedian, actress, writer, producer, wife, mother, and grandmama. Her first Netflix special, I’m Every Woman, was one of the most-watched specials on Netflix in 2023. Leanne has been named to the Forbes 50 Over 50 list and Variety’s 10 Comics to Watch list. When she’s not on the road, Leanne loves to be at home in Knoxville, Tennessee, with her husband, three children, two grandbabies, and beagle.

Estratto. © Ristampato con autorizzazione. Tutti i diritti riservati.

Chapter 1

Meet the Fletchers

The thing about families is that, growing up, you think yours is just like everyone else’s because it’s all you know. As an adult, you look back and think, Whoa, we were so not normal.

I always knew as a child that the Fletchers were not normal for Adams, Tennessee, where I grew up. It wasn’t until later that I realized we weren’t normal for anywhere.

Adams is a town of approximately five hundred people. It is so close to the northern border that if you threw a piece of fried chicken as hard as you could, you might hit Kentucky (best fried chicken in the world!). In Adams, most everyone was the same. They had the same houses, farms, clothes, attitudes, everything.

My family was just like the rest in some ways. I came from farming people on both sides. We didn’t live in a mansion or anything. Our house was a 1,400-square-foot ranch with three bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, and one and a half bathrooms. All the land around us was grazed on by cows, horses, pigs, and mules. We were always driving slow behind tractors and combines and waving to everyone as we went by.

But we were different in other ways that, in my mind, made us special.


We Had Our Own Coca-Cola Machine

The biggest thing that set my family apart from all the farmers in Adams was that the Fletchers were also business owners. My daddy, Jimmy Fletcher, ran the only grocery store for twenty miles. The store was like our family’s stage, where everyone in town came to hang out and visit with us and watch us work. Daddy had learned amazing butcher skills at a previous job at Kroger, and people loved how he cut up meat. Then he’d wrap it up pretty in butcher paper and tape like a Christmas present.

My mama, Lucille, worked part-time at the cash register and had a ball talking to everyone while smoking a Winston Light, drinking a Tab, and occasionally wearing a hairpiece that made her look like Brigitte Bardot. I wasn’t the only one who thought she was the most glamorous woman in Adams.

And then there was me, Little Miss Early Talker. By the time I was in kindergarten, Mama would prop me up on the counter by the cash register and call the customers to gather round to listen to whatever came out of my mouth.

“Leanne, tell them your favorite flavor of ice cream,” she said.

I didn’t need prompting. I held court to half a dozen farmers, mama’s friends, and a clutch of grandmas about the virtues of chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. And then the punch line: “But I love pinto beans too!” Everyone laughed, and then they went back to chewing tobacco and squeezing tomatoes. People might have come for our Coca-Cola machine, but they stayed for the wit.

On Mondays, the new supplies came in. My sister, Beth, and I helped stock the shelves. I thought of this as a big responsibility. I’m sure I was no help at all. I would work a little and then, while drinking a Tab (just like Mama), I’d take the cans of Lysol and spray them until they were empty. My parents would yell, “Leanne, quit spraying the Lysol!” I could have killed myself from inhaling all those chemicals, but the place smelled fresh.

The only other hot spot in town that rivaled ours in popularity was the funeral home. (Did I mention there weren’t many things to do in Adams? We had one caution light.) We’d walk past it on the way to the grocery every day. Mama would peek in, and if she saw people inside, she’d say, “Someone’s in the funeral home! Let’s see who’s in there.” We wound up going to a lot of funerals. It wasn’t a morbid hobby. Everyone in Adams was practically kin, and going to a funeral was a social occasion when there wasn’t much else going on. We’d just visit. It felt normal to me, nothing to be scared of. And afterward there was a big meal, which meant fried chicken and deviled eggs. I was not complaining.


Mama Truly Believed the Sun Shone Out of My Butt

I thought I was special because my mama told me I was, every single day.

“You are so funny, Leanne,” Mom said. “Everyone loves listening to you talk big.”

As a little child, I had a lot of very important things to say, like telling people how to ride a bike or how much fun I had at the Shrine Circus. That confidence was spoken into me by Lucille. She always built me up. According to her, I was the funniest, prettiest, and smartest child in town. I wasn’t an idiot compared to the other kids, but the smartest? Really? Mama genuinely thought that about me, but let’s face it, she was blowing smoke up my butt. (She still does.)

My sister, Beth, three years older than me, was painfully shy and introverted and would have rather died than draw attention to herself. Beth grew up to be five foot ten and strong enough to lift a mattress with her head and dust under it. But as a child, she was skinny and frail. She refused to eat anything but Red Hots, Sweet Tarts, and steak, a diet that made her get dizzy and faint in the canned food aisle at the store at least twice. Daddy pestered her about eating and nagged her to be as hearty as me. “Beth, look at Leanne eat,” he’d say. “She likes pinto beans.”

I wonder if I became more extroverted to compensate for Beth’s shyness. If I entertained people to take the spotlight off her. That’s right. My being the center of attention was really an act of selfless kindness toward my sister.


The Spotlight Seemed to Follow Me Around

Wherever we went, Mama and I drew attention. One time, she took Beth and me to the mall in Nashville for an Easter egg hunt. I was six. A photographer was taking pictures for a big newspaper. Out of all the little children, he zeroed in on me and asked me to pose. He didn’t have to tell me what to do. I knew to smile and hold it. I took a big bite out of my cupcake and held that pose too. I knew to press my stuffed bunny against my face, all the while thinking, He needs this shot. None of the other kids were paying attention. He wasn’t going to get anything out of them. But I hammed it up, smiled real big, and did a few twirls. This will look great in the paper. I just knew it.

Afterward, I went over to Mama, who was talking with the other moms nearby. “Why did that photographer take my picture and not anyone else’s?” I asked.

She said, “Baby, you stand out. You have a spark.”

That pattern repeated itself in other scenarios. If there was a magician at a birthday party, he would have me pick a card. This didn’t happen once or twice. It happened every single time. When the blackboard needed cleaning in kindergarten, the teacher always handed the eraser to me. I didn’t ask for it, but I got it anyway. Teachers were constantly pulling me up to the front of the class to make announcements, and I did it with gusto. I wonder whether I had a look on my face that said, Please pick me. I’m a ham. You won’t be disappointed.

I got even more attention from my extended family. When children have people around who love them, it builds confidence. By doting on me, my great-aunts made me feel special. They drove me around after school to the Revco pharmacy to pick up their Tums and prescriptions, and they let me order fries and a milkshake at the counter. (Lord, I love a drugstore. You have to drag me out of CVS.) They took me to the hair salon every week to show me off. The salon ladies would put rollers in my hair and park me under a big hair dryer. I’d sit there, sipping a Coke, wearing big black sunglasses, looking and feeling like a mini movie star.

Dettagli dell'edizione

• Editore: Diversified Publishing
• Data di pubblicazione: 2024
• Lingua: Inglese
• ISBN 13: 9798217013982
• Rilegatura: Copertina flessibile
• Numero di pagine: 288
• Contatto del produttore: Purmerul LTD; https://strengholt.nl/en/; ; 22 Liuleburgaz Str., floor 4, app. 9; Plovdiv; 4000; Bulgaria