My mom-in-law Nina has a cement pineapple in her yard. Apparently this is the traditional symbol of Southern hospitality. It matches her personality perfectly. No matter the time day or night her heart is open to visitors. Scripture says to entertain strangers because sometimes angels pop in for a visit unannounced. If there are angels hanging out in Salisbury NC, she has most likely given them a hug and a piece of fried chicken.

Her home in days of yore was the gathering place for all her son’s friends. Even now when we run into one of those long lost pals they will consistently inquire, “How’s your mom? Tell her I said hello. She always made the best fried chicken!”

I on the other hand am not as hospitable. There should be a cement statue on my lawn signifying such. Perhaps a pineapple with a line crossed through it. Or maybe a frowning gnome with hands on her ample hips would be more accurate. She would hold a sign stating, “Just because I’m sitting on the porch does not mean I want to chat about gutters, cable or the end of the world.”

I did kick one guy off my porch. He was selling meat. I do not understand how this is an acceptable practice. He was rude and wouldn’t shut up and suddenly I heard myself say, “Get off my porch.” Insert image of chubby frowning gnome with hands on ample hips here. Add red hair for emphasis.

This action surprised even me. If you know me you’d be a little surprised too, unless you’ve ever tried to sell me a chuck roast from the back of your truck. When I explained to him that I was not in the habit of buying food from a meat wagon he had the nerve to say, “Lady, where do you think the grocery store gets theirs?” That’s when grumpy gnome expressed her hot displeasure.

If I finally get a day to work in the yard, that actually is NOT an invitation to anyone trolling the neighborhood. I would NOT love to discuss the condition of our driveway, dangerous trees nor my phone plan. Thank you for your concern over our lack of gravel, precarious limbs and wasted minutes. However I am in no mood to stand here in my nasty sweaty wore-out self and converse at your leisure. And if you’re campaigning for office PLEASE just send your views to the Salisbury Post where I can mull them over on my own time. I will be much more likely to vote for you if I do not retrieve your smiling faced flyer from the laundry. For eventually I shall shuck these sweat soaked jeans and likely leave your campaign promises in a pocket only to find their shredded contents in the washing machine.

Nope, I don’t have a pineapple in my yard.

In fact, I’ve often thought of inventing a line of anti-welcome door mats for people like me with “Beat It” emblazoned in place of the traditional sentiment. “Scram” “Hit the Road Jack” or “Vamoose” would be other fine choices. Perhaps it would be wise to have “Welcome” on the other side in case an angel shows up so I could quickly flip it over.

Nah. Who am I kidding? Angels won’t stop here anyway. Nina lives across the street and she’s got fried chicken.