Everything’s better with butter.
Lizzy was still giggling long after Caroline stomped off in a snit to sit with Charlie, Jane, and Emma. Darcy decided her giggle was his favorite sound in the whole world, so he settled in his mind he’d keep her laughin’, and he had an idea concerning how to go about it.
Darcy: (smiling) You know, Lizzy, when the good Lord was passin’ out brains, Caroline thought He said “trains,” so she said, “None for me, thanks. They make me sick.”
Lizzy: (giggling louder) And when He was passin’ out charms, she thought He said “arms,” and she said, “Don’t need ‘em. I already have two.”
Darcy: (chuckling) When He was passin’ out looks, she thought He said “books” and said, “I have too many good ones. You can give those to somebody who needs them.”
Lizzy: (snorting) When He told them to line up for ears, she thought He said “beers.” She called out, “I’ll have just one.”
Darcy: (laughing) When He said to stand to the side for beautiful eyes, she thought He said “beautiful flies,” so she passed, saying, “I don’t fish, and those things are nasty.”
Lizzy: (crying) When He gave out shiny hair, she thought He said “shiny mare,” and went to a different line, saying, “My horse’s mane and tail are already shiny. She’s won competitions for her looks at rodeos. She’s a beauty queen, like me.”
Darcy: (wiping his eyes) Have mercy! Enough! I’m startin’ to feel a little sorry for Caroline and a mite guilty about making fun of her. Besides, my belly’s startin’ to hurt somethin’ fierce.
Lizzy: Just rub some butter on it. Everything’s better with butter. Here’s a little square of it for you.
Darcy: Butter my belly? Seriously?
Lizzy: We rub butter on our bellies and backs to get a suntan.
Darcy: You’re frying yourself, Lizzy. Don’t ruin your skin. You could get cancer from that.
Lizzy: Good grief! Is there anything that won’t make me fat or sick? Sugar’s bad; butter’s bad; meat’s bad.
Darcy: Not all sugar is bad. The kind I give you won’t make you fat, and I hope it never makes you sick.
Lizzy: And you have plenty of it to give away. If your kisses were airplanes, you’d be an airline.
Darcy: You complainin’ about gettin’ too much sugar, Sugar?
Lizzy: Not as long as you don’t spread it around. I don’t like to share.
Darcy: Neither do I. Remember, I don’t play. I quit school because of recess.
Lizzy: All right then. No point in beatin’ a dead horse. ‘Course it doesn’t hurt either. So you’re feelin’ like we were mean to Caroline? I was just funnin’. She’s almost like a sister to me. Well, maybe not a sister, but certainly some sort of kin. Second cousin, maybe. We fuss, but we’d do anything for each other. That said, you have to admit she’s wound up tighter than the girdle of a Baptist minister’s wife at an all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast.
Darcy: She does want her way. She’s been all over me like kudzu at a Civil War memorial.
Lizzy: Well, aren’t you slicker than a harpooned hippo on a banana tree with your Southern talk? Seriously though, you know kudzu, wisteria, honeysuckle, and mistletoe are all beautiful parasites, but they eventually kill their hosts. Suck the life right out of ‘em. Just a little warnin’.
Darcy: You don’t need to warn me about Caroline, Lizzy. She’s like a doorknob. Every man I’ve met since I came back here has had a turn at being her boyfriend.
Lizzy: That was nicely put. I liked the addition of “at being her boyfriend.”
Darcy: Yep. I changed it a bit. She’s not that kind of bad.
Lizzy: You’re right. She isn’t. She goes out with lots of guys, and she dresses like she’s a flashin’ sign advertisin’ for a good time, but she really isn’t a hoochie mama, even if the jeans she has on are tight enough to see Lincoln smilin’ on a penny in her back pocket. She’s more like a black widow spider.
Darcy: Or a praying mantis? The female eats her male partner when she’s finished with him. Sometimes she decapitates him.
Lizzy: You know more than a Philadelphia lawyer. That’s our Caroline. Don’t worry though. We’re nothin’ alike. And Charlie’s not like her, either.
Darcy: Yep. There’s no conceit in her family. She got it all.
Lizzy: Here comes Harriet, loaded down with our plates.
Harriet: Here you go, folks. I see Caroline and Emma moved. I’m gonna hustle on over there and take them their orders.
Darcy: Thanks, Harriet.
Lizzy: Is your food good?
Darcy: The roasted chicken is a little dry.
Lizzy: Put some butter on it.
Darcy: I know. Everything’s better with butter. Maybe we’ll lay out in the sun Saturday after we have lunch at the beach. You could put butter on my back.
Lizzy: (grinning) You’re already good enough. If I make you any better I might have to slap myself.
Darcy: You tryin’ to turn my head? ‘Cause it’s spinning like Linda Blair’s in “The Exorcist.”
Lizzy: (shivers) You could put all the butter in the world on that girl, and she’d still scare the bejeebers out of me.
Darcy: See. Not everything’s better with butter.
Lizzy: Maybe not, but this baked potato sure is.
Darcy: Give me some of that, Darlin’. It looks good.
Lizzy: The next time you reach toward my baked potato, you’ll draw back a nub. Eat your dry chicken and be happy.
Darcy: Not even one bite?
Lizzy: Well, I’ll give you one bite, but if I have to slap myself, I don’t want to hear a word out of you.
Darcy: Dang. That’s so good it has to be bad. I think you’re right. Everything IS better with butter.