“He tried to make me wear a suit.” “Why?” Sissy asked dryly. “Are you planning on going to a funeral after our date?”

“Are you going to tame our little Sissy, Mitchell?Sissy rubbed her face, annoyed, and Mitch answered honestly, "I'm really too lazy to try and tame anybody. If I had my way, I'd spend all day sleeping under a tree, maybe rolling out occasionally to sun my belly, and then I expect someone to bring me food. I could live like that forever!”

“Sissy could walk home while you drive me and the groceries back.” “Or,” Sissy countered, “I could gut you here and let your rotting corpse attract the hyenas while we go home and enjoy a nice, quiet meal at my parents’ house.” Mitch thought about that a moment but finally shook his head. “That doesn’t really work for me.”

“I’m not talking about them. We told you before, Smith, we wouldn’t play if her”—he pointed at Sissy—“or her”—he pointed at Ronnie—“were playing.” Mitch looked at her. “Uh…Sissy?” Sissy rounded on the coach. “I can’t believe you are still holding that against us. It’s been years!” “He was in traction for three months. A shifter! In traction!” “He was in my way!”

“Smitty gave his best pout. “Why are y’all trying to hurt me?”“Because it’s fun?”“It’s easy.”“I love it when you cry.”Smitty sighed. “Forget I asked.”

“But Sissy had a way of bringing out the "fun" side of anybody if she'd a mind to. To quote Janie Mae, "Sissy came out of my womb with her middle finger raised.”

“Not that he had anything to worry about. Personally, Sissy would like to avoid having acid thrown in her face. She was wacky that way.”