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asking when I was a little girl. He was sitting at the dinner table with a piece of chicken in his mouth, and his girlfriend eyeing me.
    â€œWhat ole bitch?” Aunt Cookie asked, looking toward Larry’s girlfriend. “This heifer over here, she pregnant?”
    Larry clenched his mouth tight, and his jawbone stuck out. “I’m talkin’ ’bout Rowanda.”
    â€œOh, that’s the bitch you talkin’ about. Sometimes I get confused.”
    â€œHow come nobody never told me that Rowanda had that baby?”
    â€œâ€™Cause you ain’t need to know. What was you gonna do? Did the prison you was in have a daycare?”
    â€œYou kinda nasty,” Larry’s girlfriend said to Aunt Cookie, with her drawn-on eyebrows raised.
    â€œOh, hold on,” Aunt Cookie responded. “Anybody know who this strumpet is? You best be quiet and mind yo’ business. This between my brother and me.”
    â€œIt’s all right, Trish,” Larry said to his girlfriend with a soft, mellow tone. He took out a cigarette, lit it, took a drag, and blew out the smoke.
    â€œYou talkin’ down to me for some li’l dopefiend’s kid. This chile probably ain’t even mine. Her mama is a ho. Who knows who the daddy really is?”
    Everything fell off the table by the time Aunt Cookie ran toward Larry Turner, causing him to fall backward out of the chair. Aunt Cookie jumped on top of him and placed her elbow in his throat.
    â€œI will cut you, nigga!” she screamed, with spit flying out her mouth. “I will slice yo’ ass apart, mu’fucker!”
    â€œGet off me, Cookie! You fuckin’ bitch, get off me!”
    â€œOh, no, mu’fucker, you’re the bitch! You ain’t shit. You’re worse than a fuckin’ gutter rat! What kinda man wanna bust li’l girls’ pussies open? You ain’t shit, nigga!”
    While trying to shake the thoughts from my mind, I kept hearing my name being called, and when I blinked my eyes, as if to bring myself back to present, Roger was standing in front of me. “Don’t forget that we need to talk,” he said, interrupting my thoughts. I blew him a fake-ass kiss and mumbled, “Catch that and kiss my ass with it.”
    I walked out the door, holding Aunt Cookie by the hand. When we got outside, I felt like slapping the shit out of her and knocking her old-ass back to the 1974 time warp that her wardrobe was from. She stood there on the passenger side of my truck, with lips and eyes to match her attitude, like her shit didn’t stink.
    She was dressed in silver metallic go-go boots, a brown corduroy mini skirt, a leather patched jacket, and a pocketbook to match. No wonder they arrested her; she was in fashion violation. Sirens, water sprinklers, and all kinds of emergency devices probably started going off as soon as she hit the pavement! The NYPD didn’t arrest her; they just held her over. It had to be the fashion police that got ahold of this shit, which only enhanced the fact that I was thoroughly disgusted with her.
    I sucked my teeth, stomped my feet, and rolled my eyes at her as she entered my truck.
    â€œRoll ’em again and you won’t have ’em for long,” Aunt Cookie said.
    â€œWhat the hell you doin’ getting arrested? What, there was nothing else you could do other than try and beat up Uncle Boy?”
    â€œBeat up Uncle Boy? He lucky I ain’t stone cold kick his ass!”
    â€œWhat did he do, Aunt Cookie? What?”
    â€œI caught him feeling on the barmaid’s ass.”
    â€œWhat barmaid?”
    â€œThe one at the Fox Trapp. The same bitch I had to break his ass about before.”
    â€œSo you had to beat him in the head? His goddamn knees were just too much. His freakin’ head was all you could see? You lucky he didn’t die!”
    â€œLet me tell you somethin’. I ain’t bring you in this world, but I brought you on