conversation over dinner...

(dinner = one of the deer my father killed this weekend):

Me:
"Where'd you get this deer butchered?"

My father:
"Oh, up at the twin's (my cousin) house."

Me:
"Hmm...I hope he's taking care of it (my late aunt's old house).
You know how he is."

My mother:
"Yeah. He ain't nothin' but trash, like all
them. (my father's family)
But thank God his wife kind of keeps him in line.
She done knocked
the shit out of him already a few times, put him in the hospital.
She's a big woman there, but she got sense.
I like
her."

(*photo courtesy of Elle Decor: Whitetrash Dream House Edition)