“‘Then why come running to me Sunday for protection since you can take care of yourself?’ I asked her.

“‘Because I hates, if threatened, not to be a lady,’ said Minnie. ‘But if ever some man was to hit me, Jesse B., I would wear my ladyhood like a loose garment, with my sleeves rolled up. Bad man or no bad man, as sure as I am setting on my anatomy this evening, I would be setting on it tomorrow, too. When push comes to shove, Jesse B., I am one woman who can take care of myself, married or unmarried. Listen, I learned long ago that when a man slaps a woman, that is the time for a woman to make a stand—the very first time she gets slapped. If she don’t, the next thing you know, that man will hit her and knock her down. If she lets him get away with that, next thing, he will kick her—slap her first, kick her, then stomp her. Next thing, he’ll cut her. If a man gets away with cutting a woman and she don’t stop him, he will shoot her. Yes, he will! If a woman lets a man slap her in the beginning, he is liable to shoot her in the end. I say, stop him when he first raises his hand! My advice to all women is to raise theirs, too! Raise your hand, women! Protect yourself—then you won’t have to bury yourself later! That’s my theory.’”

“Then you won’t have to worry about your Cousin Minnie’s physical well-being while she is in New York,” I said.

“I don’t,” said Simple. “To tell the truth, I would be scared of that woman myself were she not related to me.”

An Auto-Obituary

An Auto-Obituary

“I WILL now obituarize myself,” said Simple at the bar. “I will cast flowers on my own grave before I am dead. And I will tell people how good I were, in case nobody else has the same feeling. Even if you are good in this life, when you are gone, most people think it is a good riddance. So, before I become dust to dust and ashes to ashes, I will light my own light—and not hide it under no bushel. My light will be lit now.”

“I believe you are well lit already,” I said.

“I have not had a drink today,” said Simple, “except these beers in this bar.”

“Then what gives you this flow of morbid thoughts?” I asked. “And why is death so prevalent this evening in your conversation? You do not look like a man who is about to die.”