Abby-snails inherited Bertha

An old family friend got a new home this week. You see Bertha, my grandmother's best friend since she was little found herself in a bit of a predicament. After my grandmother passed away last week, she didn't know if she was going to move in with my mother, my aunt, my cousins or my sister.

Well, it's only fitting that Bertha makes her new home in New Orleans, and I'll tell you why.

Bertha is used to living in place cluttered with knick naks. She would feel practically agoraphobic if the walls weren't covered with tiny shelves holding tiny objects; she needs to be in a place with peacock feathers and trinkets, and that weird sign with a headless woman that used to terrify me and Grandma and Grandpa's old apartment. 

Bertha is at home in Abby's house.

Bertha needs to be well-costumed. My grandmother would always dress Bertha for a birthday party or for Saint Patrick's Day. Sometimes her birthday would last a few years before Grandma would remember to change her outfit. Well, not anymore. Who better than Abby Mullen, the queen of costumes, to make sure that Bertha has a new outfit for every holiday. And, there are more holidays in New Orleans than any other city I know! …Just don't dress her up for Zulu, please.

Bertha needs to be with someone who understands her. Keep in mind, Bertha is now in her 80s–although she doesn't look a day over 2 – so she isn't used to change. She needs to be around someone who uses common phrases like, "I'm going to smack you across the mouth," or "Just wait until I'm dead and then we'll see if you feel bad…" and these kinds of things are not authentic unless coming from Abby, who somehow had Grandma's dialogue passed down directly, like a phrasebook in the genes (see below). I can see Abby someday with a crop of white, wavy hair, telling doctors and nurses that she is going to stick needles into her own eyes if they don't leave her alone.

I don't know how Grandma Clare was the youngest child because her and Abby both had an older-sister complex. Grandma would never share her strawberry rhubarb pie or her chocolate cake, and Abby would never share her home-cultured, free-range, mother-induced frozen yogurt. When either of them decided something was theirs, it was theirs. And no one would dare challenge them on that.

And so I am not challenging you on who gets Bertha. She would have been yours anyway. So Abby-snails gets Bertha. But Mogliosi get Manky. Ain't no way I'm ever giving her back.