Tuck Your Skirt in Your Panties and Run

Today I have author Lucy Adams stopping by my blog to promote her latest book, Tuck Your Skirt in Your Panties and Run.

Ever laughed when you knew you shouldn't? Battled with Satan over chocolate? Forgotten to wear lipstick to the Garden Club meeting? Tried to define variorium? At times like these, what else can you do but Tuck Your Skirt in Your Panties and Run?

In her much awaited second book, award winning writer Lucy Adams, author of If Mama Don't Laugh, It Ain't Funny, takes readers on a roller-coaster ride through life's most embarrassing moments and delivers them safely on the other side. In her usual form, Adams gives readers an eye-watering, nose-snorting, giggling gift of a good time.

Join a 40 year-old bridesmaid on her journey to walk down the aisle, delve into a magnolia massacre, attend a hawg killin' with the communists, do some island living country style, and inflict vicarious revenge on the inventor of the balloon. Adams's wit will make you turn around and check your own underwear. Best of all we each can relax in the realization that we're not the only ones running with our skirts tucked in our panties.

Here is an excerpt from her book:

Weaving a Tangled Web

My sister-in-law is the quintessential southern belle, gracious to a fault, knows the importance of keeping up appearances, believes in nourishing the souls of others with comfort foods, and practices her womanly wiles so subtly only a lady of the same caliber could catch it. She’s married to my Mississippi brother, the space lawyer, who has said more than once, “The only way to cover up a lie is to tell a bigger one.”

Imagine my surprise when she confessed, “I bought a tin of cinnamon rolls at Bi-Lo, repackaged them, and gifted them to someone.”

“Mm-hmm,” I hummed, with a knowing, kindred nod. “Disguised them.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “But three days later his wife came asking for the recipe. I thought, ‘Crap! Now he’s dragged his wife into it. I don’t have the recipe. Where’s my lying husband when I need him? How will I get out of this gracefully?’

“How did you get out of it?” I grinned.

She leaned in and confided, “I told her it was a secret.”

“True enough,” I commended her.

Providing unnecessary self-defense, she continued, “I never told him they were homemade. He just assumed it because of the containers they were in, you know those disposable plastic containers you can buy at the grocery store. And then his wife assumed it was an old family recipe! I never said that.”

“Who is he? Why did you take him cinnamon rolls, anyway?”

She sighed. “He’s Mickey, the Program Manager of the Water Valley Main Street Association and I’m a member of the Water Valley Main Street Association Movie Night Committee. My job is to hang movie night posters around town. I ran out of time to do it, and I had to confess, and I had to give him the posters so someone else could put them up.”

“So,” I said, unraveling the tangled web, “you needed a sugar coated bribe to keep him from getting sideways with you. You led him to believe that you used the time, in which you could have hung the posters, slaving, instead, over the oven making homemade cinnamon rolls from a secret family recipe just for him.”

Exhaling, she admitted, “I wanted the appearance of homemade without the trouble of it.”

“Why didn’t you just come clean?”

“I was so flattered that his wife wanted the recipe.” Her hands flew in the air, as if she made a serendipitous discovery. “The flattery made me do it, made me tell this . . . this . . . tale.”

My Mississippi brother will be pleased with how his wife persisted in weaving that web into knots that’ll never come out. That’s because he doesn’t know it’s not lies as much as it’s only a belle playing mind games.

(Excerpted from Tuck Your Skirt in Your Panties and Run.)

Head on over to Amazon and get your copy now!!!  http://www.amazon.com/Tuck-Your-Skirt-Panties-Run/dp/1935602063/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1317738574&sr=8-1