"Gimme" ----- now what does that really mean? Well of course it means "Give Me". Everyone probably knows that! So why do people say "Gimme"?
Perhaps the English language is just too proper for some, so they say Gimme. Maybe some people think the term Gimme softens the sometimes hated act of asking for something. Maybe some people like the word Gimme.....I kind of like it myself.
A thief during a hold-up would probably say "Gimme Your Money"! A kid would say "Gimme a peanut butter sammich"! A person who needs help might say "Could you gimme some help?"
A disgusted person might say "Don't gimme that crap."
People just use the word. It might be an informal contraction but it's still used. Just like the words gonna, ain't, gotta, kinda, wanna, whatcha, lemme...all acceptable in my repertoire of words....maybe not in yours or others but these are in mine.
My tongue wraps around that word really well. It's like smooth butter on a piece of homemade white bread....soft, flavorful and tasty. It kind of melts in my mouth when I say it. Not like any proper Queen's language. Of course I'm sure Queenie Liz has never said Gimme in her life. She probably has never even said Give Me.....she speaks and people just fall at her feet and give her anything she wants and she doesn't even have to ask for it. I bet old Queenie Liz just clicks and wags her tongue when she comes to the good ole USA, and thinks us American hicks are the worst abuser of the English language.
Queenie Liz my dear, it's called the American language thank you....we don't speak your proper English, we have our own thank you and don't need yours.....it may be an offshoot of yours but don't belittle the thing we have known all of our lives. Shoot honeychile.....us hoodlums of America are just as smart as y'all just more low key Queenie Liz! Subjects of the Queenie, beware if you come to America....you'll have a lesson in the really proper English....good ole American English! You may not know what we're saying for a couple of days, but you will learn.
So for now, gimme a few more minutes to allow yourself to read the rest of this crappie post.....gimme gimme gimme......hmmmmm maybe I should say, dear readers.....Give me your attention! See it ain't half as much fun as gimme!
An Old Time Town Resident
Many local readers will remember a resident by the name of Eugene "Jean" Huffman. He was quite an interesting person who was handy in about everything he tried to do.
He was born February 9, 1881 and died March 1, 1976 at age 95.
In his early life Jean apprenticed in the blacksmith trade, working for the Edward Hayden blacksmith shop on Jefferson street around 1907. Then in 1912 he embarked in business for himself.
This friendly and talented man also was a cabinetmaker and an expert violin maker and played the violin wonderfully. I can remember going with my grandpa to take his fiddle to Jean for repair when I was a child. Jean played a song on grandpa's fiddle and it was beautiful....and not quite like my grandpa's fiddling.
Many folks in town didn't know he was a poet but he loved to write about the everyday problems of living. Jean wrote the following poem which will remain forever in the history of the town.
THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH
Under the wide and open sky
The village smithy stands;
No spreading chestnut tree is nigh,
No chestnuts seem to be on hand,
Except the smithy himself, who tries
With slowly timed and feeble licks,
To make a piece for that which lies
Upon the floor for him to fix.
Tho' once a mighty man, alack,
He now is but a withered wreck
With rheumatism in his back,
And wrinkles in his scrawny neck.
Time was, when people far and near,
Within, and all about the town,
From early morn 'til night could hear
His mighty sledge come smashing down;
But years of toil have slowed his gait;
No more he pounds the iron with ease;
And when he swings his sledge of late
They mostly hear him puff and wheeze,
The sweat that once upon his brow,
By which he earned his daily bread
Has disappeared, and slobbers now
Just dribble down his chin instead.
His battered tools are all worn out,
And scattered widely here and there
Upon the floor, and all about
His dusty shop, most everywhere.
On many jobs his fee is small.
E'en less than what his time is worth,
But friends, to him, are, after all,
Worth more than any job on earth.
His patient wife has long since learned
To skimp and save each tiny crust,
Those things for which she long has yearned,
She does without, because she must.
The holes which in his working pants
Are burned by red hot sparks of fire,
She patches when she has the chance,
To save expense on his attire.
Some items on his account,
Have been so long upon the page
He can scarce figure the amount,
So badly are they dimmed by age.
But he toils and struggles on,
No other way he knows in life;
He hopes that when he's dead and gone
They'll get ashamed and pay his wife.
It sounds like to me that Jean wrote this about himself and his business and perhaps many people owed Jean money and he was having trouble collecting his fees. I know that from my own dad's business ventures, that collecting money from persons was an ongoing battle.
I remember Jean as a gentle man who kept to himself. May his soul rest in peace and perhaps he collected some of those debts in heaven.
Quote For The Day
Charm is a way of getting the answer yes
without asking a clear question.
--Albert Camus
Sometimes I have Dear Abby moments. And just have to blare out my rural America Dear Aunt Abby responses.
When the question arises concerning race, I'm the whitest of hues and can definitely impose my true feelings of being of the white race in my answers as Dear Aunt Abby. A lot of the white race likes Elvis Presley songs, likes Miracle Whip on our potato salad, likes Miss Clairol when our hair turns grey, likes to wear thongs (flip flops) even when the snow flies, don't like to wear hats except baseball caps, likes to work hard and make lots of money, likes to study hard and gain a lot of education, likes to get a deep colored sun tan ...is that so we can look like we belong in another race(???), likes high school basketball, and pumpkin pie with cool whip.
If anyone needs a Dear Aunt Abby response, feel free to ask the question. I can only do my best when I answer. But I bet I can do just as good as Abigail Van Buren.....who didn't even go by her real name....her real name was Pauline. With that name I can understand why she didn't use her real name..... At least I'll answer under my real name..... The Queen of Trailer Park Trash Talk!
Thanks for coming to my blog.
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Hope to see you again soon.
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