My relatives, just regular folks, live in the country country. Once, at my aunt’s house, we took a walk to look at her horses. I noticed something leaning against the barn.
“Um, Aunt Wanda? Is that a shotgun?”
“Why, yeah, honey. It is.” She said in the accent that sounds like home.
Four years ago, my sister called. They were leaving for Washington, D.C.
“Wait! Yaya? Remember. Don’t talk to Republicans.”
My mom told my aunt what I said.
My aunt replied, “Well, why would she? They wouldn’t have the sense to know what to say back.”