poor-mouthin’

I’ve only ever heard my father use this term, but I heard it actually happen zillions of times. It seems to be a rural variation of a time-honored southern tradition. Here’s how it goes.

Grandma: I don’t know if these (steaming-hot, made from scratch) biscuits are gonna be any good, my baking soda is old. And this new oven, it cooks hot on one side and I cain’t hardly get it to work right.
Grandpa: They’ll do us till we can get to the Hardee’s.

Grandpa: I don’t know if this (gorgeous, roasted fresh-from-the-field) corn will be sweet enough for you, it was awful dry this year.
Grandkid: (stuffing mouth) Yeah, we may have to give it to the hogs.

Grandma: I’m so glad you-all could visit. I just hate that I cain’t get the house as clean as I used to.
Grandpa: Don’t touch the windows. She’s polished that glass so hard it’s thin enough to shatter.

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