Who was Hannah of the phrase "It's hotter than Hannah?" In all probability, Hannah, whose reputation has been used precariously in the South as a euphemism to describe an extremely warm day, was a harlot. She was one hot tamale, that's who she was. The saying "Bless Pat it's warm out there" could be used to describe early June in Charleston. I think Pat was the good girl. "Hotter than Hell" is the typical innuendo to describe the Lowcountry's July heat, so if you hear it's "Hotter Than Hannah” you can bet your sweet bippy it's a scorcher. The higher the mercury rises, the more sultry the language.
Now factor in 50 Shades Of Grey and Magic Mike and lawd, you have turned up the heat index another 10 degrees. I believe, and this is just me, now, that the marketers of these two female-driven summer releases would have served better purpose to release them in the winter.
I'll pass on Magic Mike and Shades of Grey, for that matter. Nothing against either one, but I like to think some things are just better left to imagination. I'll just sit on my back patio with a glass of wine and turn 50 shades of red.
Recently I was talking to a friend who was reading 50 Shades, and she told me that some of our mothers' "romance" novels were even hotter than this new release. Which brings me to the true story of my mother-in-law, God bless her soul.
She had every single romance novel that hit the shelves the minute they were released. Her "Magic Mike" was Victor on The Young and the Restless. Her Eureka! moment was when she realized she would never have to miss another episode while at work with the new-fangled invention of recordable VCR's.
My mother-in-law passed away at home unexpectantly. Sometimes those "we'll laugh about this one day" moments happen at a very bad time. Shortly after her death, the pastor came to her home to console us and help with funeral arrangements. We talked about her last moments. I retraced her last minutes as visible from the objects in her room. A bowl of banana pudding, a glass-bottled Coca-Cola with peanuts still bubbling in the neck of the bottle, and a good book.
Two days later at the funeral, the pastor gave the eulogy. I was sitting on the front row with my family, beside my daughter and husband. The pastor talked about her life, attributes, hard work, family, and finishing well. Finishing well? My ears perked. His next line was "Yes, Mrs. Jones' daughter-in-law told me that when she passed away she was eating banana pudding with a coke and peanuts and reading The Good Book." OMG. I audibly gasped. I looked at my daughter to my left because she knew what book she was reading and it didn't have "Holy Bible" written across the front—more like "Nora Roberts." My daughter chuckled and it was on. We both held back snorts and giggles as we apologized and worked ourselves out of the aisle seats, barely making it to the front door before belting out in peals of laughter. We tried three times to go back in and didn't make it until my daughter promised to sit behind me. We made it through the rest of the sermon and never corrected the pastor.
No, I don't think it's sacrilegious to tell this story. I have seen my mother-in-law smile while silently reading for too long to believe that she wouldn't get a kick out of reading this herself. I believe if she were here now and I asked her if she had read 50 Shades she would shake her head "no" while holding up her latest "Good Book" and smiling.
