Wibby: Your husband’s gone wild with the hedge clippers again, I see.

Margaret: Don’t you dare fuss at Haywood about that spirea bush, Mom. Haywood is your staunchest defender. You wouldn’t believe how many other men say to him, “You let your mother-in-law move in NEXT DOOR?!”

Wibby: That’s only because those other men haven’t met me yet.

Wibby: Dammit, I can’t ever remember how to turn off this cell phone.

Margaret: On your phone it’s easier just to turn the ringer way down. See this little silver toggle on the side? Click the top of it to make the ringer louder and the bottom of it to make the ringer quieter.

Wibby: Oh, I can do that– that’s easy to remember!

Margaret: You said the same thing the last twelve times I taught you how to do it.

Wibby: Fortunately, I won’t remember that mean thing you just said to me, either.

Wibby: You know that book you got me, Death Comes to Pemberley?

Margaret: Sure.

Wibby: Well, the author’s already written another one.

Margaret: What’s this one called?

Wibby: A Million Shades of Grey, or something like that.

Margaret: Fifty Shades of Grey?

Wibby: Yes!

Margaret: Mom, that book wasn’t written by P.D. James.

Wibby: But it’s by a woman with two initials for her first name and James for her last name.

Margaret: But I promise you it’s not P.D. James.

Wibby: Oh. Well, anyway, if you get happen to get a copy for free, I’d like to take a look.

Margaret: You know it’s basically porn, right?

Wibby: And you know I’m a big girl, right?

Wibby has only one great-grandchild, and Lily has only one great-grandparent. Think they might be glad to see each other?

Wibby: How old did you say Ann is today? Forty?

Margaret: Mom, you know Ann’s exactly my age, and that makes her fifty.

Wibby: Oh, but you aren’t really fifty. If you were fifty, I’d be ancient.

Margaret: Want to stay long enough to get your throat blessed?

Wibby: No, I do not. There’s nothing wrong with my throat right now, but there will be if I get in that giant line of  coughing people who didn’t have sense enough to stay home from church if they’re sick.

Wibby: What’s for supper?

Margaret: I’m trying a new recipe: Saffron-Mushroom Risotto.

Wibby: I think I’ll pass, then. I’m not too big on mushrooms. They taste like dirt and look like something else.

“I’ve got to get myself to the beauty shop. Poor Emma thinks she’s living with Phyllis Diller.”

Margaret: I know the neighbors with the new baby are glad you didn’t have a loud party last night.

Wibby: Well, if I ever had a party, it would need to be a loud one. Otherwise, I wouldn’t understand anything anybody said to me.

Margaret: What did you do all today while I was out?

Wibby: Went to the store, stepped in dog poop, kicked off my shoes, put the milk in the refrigerator, and climbed back in bed.

Merry Christmas from Wibby and Emma and all of us in Wibbyland!

Margaret: I’m headed to the grocery store one last time. Need anything?

Wibby: Yes! If you see anything made of chocolate, I’d like a quart of it. 

Wibby: This is my son’s art show. He’s been a great artist ever since he was a little boy.

Photographer: Really?

Wibby: I wish you’d take a picture and send it to my daughter. I want her to put it on my blog so people can see these great drawings or paintings or whatever they are.

Photographer: Yes, ma’am.

[Photo by Dane Carder. Find out more about the gallery exhibit here. Find out more about the work of Billy Renkl here.]

“Did you SEE that ugly sheriff who’s in hot water because he got caught having an affair on the job? Never mind whether it was right or wrong, what was that woman even thinking? If that fat dummy had taken his clothes off in front of me, I’d've been running down the highway before his underwear hit the floor.”

Grocery store clerk: Why, it’s nearly eighty degrees out there, sugar, and you’re wearing that big ol’ coat. How can you be cold?

Wibby: I’m not cold; I’m tacky. I’ve got my pajamas on under this coat, and they’re not even matching pajamas.

Margaret: Hey, sweetie, I’m just checking in. Everything okay at home?

Henry: Everything’s fine, Mom. Wibby ordered tons of pizza. Are you and Dad having fun?

Margaret: We’re having a great time!

Henry: That’s good. Maybe you should stay away about six weeks or so.

Wibby: There’s no ice cream in this freezer!

Margaret: I know, but Haywood got you a milkshake at the drive-through not even an hour ago.

Wibby: Oh, that’s right. But, really, I don’t consider a milkshake ice cream.

Margaret: Mom, a milkshake is made of ice cream.

Wibby: I don’t care if it’s made of ice cream or not. A milkshake is a drink. Ice cream is a dessert.

Margaret: Mom, we need to hurry. That guy in the truck wants to turn left and he can’t as long as we’re standing here.

Wibby: Oh, let him sit a while. If he learns to slow down, he might live to be 80, too.

Office Manager: If you’ll just run down here and sign these papers, we’ll get it all taken care of.

Wibby: Great! Just give me a minute to find a jacket, and I’ll be right down.

Office Manager: Have you been outside? It’s really beautiful out today.

Wibby: I know, but I’d a lot rather put on a jacket than a bra.

“Wibby gets so unbelievably happy about little things like flowers and ice cream. I think we should all be more like Wibby.”

–Joe, 13, appreciating his grandmother’s appreciation of life

Wibby, to a stranger standing in front of the department-store mirror: I love it! Buy it quick.

Stranger, turning to the left and right, considering her reflection: You really think so? What about the shoes?

Wibby: Well, now, you didn’t do too good with the shoes.

Stranger: But the skirt is alright?

Wibby: Turn all the way around and and let me see your butt.

Stranger, twirling: So?

Wibby: No doubt about it – the skirt is perfect.

Stranger: But not the shoes.

Wibby. Honey, they’re the right color, but that is all in the world I can say for those ugly shoes.

Wibby: I need you to book us a flight to New York City.

Margaret: You’re kidding, right?

Wibby: No, I’m serious. We need to get up there and join that demonstration on Wall Street. I’m tired of people thinking it’s nothing but hippies and losers who are mad about the way money’s running our government.

Wibby: I want you to make me an appointment to speak to the city council.

Margaret: Mom, I don’t think they’ll convene for the sake of hearing the opinion of one regular citizen.

Wibby: Well, I’m not officially a citizen of Nashville yet, and I think they ought to hear a few things from a Birmingham citizen’s perspective.

Margaret: Like what?

Wibby: Like they’re starting to make the Birmingham politicians look good, and that is really saying something.

Margaret: Did you watch the Republican debate last night?

Wibby: I did.

Margaret: Anybody say anything you could vote for?

Wibby: Of course not. They’re all a bunch of crooks and liars who don’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain.

Megaret: So maybe our president is starting to look a little better to you these days.

Wibby: Don’t get your hopes up.  An idiot running against idiots is still an idiot.

Wibby: Would you please leave those dishes alone and come sit down with me and drink your coffee?

Margaret: Mom, someone’s got to clean up the kitchen.

Wibby: Oh, just throw the plates out in the yard and let the animals lick them clean.

“Don’t count me in for supper tonight. I bought four different kinds of cookies at the grocery store, and when I got home I decided to taste some from every box, and they were all so good I ate three or four each. And then I was thirsty so I drank a big glass of milk. So that’s my supper. Unless you’re fixing something really good, in which case I’ll eat that, too, and skip breakfast instead.”

Wibby: Where are you going?

Henry: To the football game.

Wibby: I thought you didn’t like football.

Henry: I like hanging out with my friends, even if I don’t understand the actual game. I don’t really get the point of football.

Wibby: Well, I’ll tell you a secret, Henry: Contrary to what you may have heard, you can get along just fine in this world without understanding one damned thing about football.

“Well, how drunk do you have to be to enjoy that kind of a show?”

Margaret: You haven’t gotten out of your gown yet?

Wibby: Nope.

Margaret: Are you sick?

Wibby: No, I just didn’t feel like getting dressed. I’m eighty years old now, and I can do whatever in the hell I want.

Margaret: Feeling any better today?

Wibby: Yes, but my back is still bothering me a little.

Margaret: Maybe I should give the doctor a call.

Wibby: No, I think all my back really needs is a milkshake.

Wibby: Oh, I woke you up!

Margaret: That’s okay; I need to get up anyway.

Wibby: Oh, good. I’ve been wondering what we’re having for supper tonight.

Margaret: Mom, it’s 8 in the morning.

Wibby: I know. I’ve been wondering about it for the last two hours.

Eye doctor: Did either of your parents suffer macular degeneration?

Wibby: No.

Eye doctor: Is either of your parents still living?

Wibby: Doctor, you need to have your eyes checked. Can’t you see how old I am?