A block down and to the east of our house, across the street from the fancy, big Reaux home, and catty-corner from the Gros mansion was another neighborhood grocery store, owned and operated by Mr. Naquin.  His family lived in a nice two-story house next to the store.

One of the children was a pretty dark-haired daughter near my age, and I liked visiting with her.  Sometimes Mom let me sleep over.  There was an older sister who was named Wilda, and she was very nice, too.

There were two bedrooms on the second floor, but the rest was not finished, and we had all sorts of interesting places to hide and to play up there.

They were the first people I knew who had what they called a "family room" and that was downstairs.  It was a very large room, and there was a player piano that we were allowed to play.  On Sunday afternoons they had dancing parties, and young friends came from all over town to dance.  Of course, the younger ones had the privilege of pumping out the music for the older ones to dance.

My friend and I were comparing warts on our hands one day, and she told me that she knew how we could get rid of them.  We snuck into the store and got two partially rotted potatoes from the bin.  We took them out to the back yard and rubbed those old potatoes on our warts until the skin burned.  Then we had to bury them where "it would rain on them."  In ten days time, those warts were supposed to be gone.  Guaranteed!  Well, that is exactly what happened.  Our warts disappeared.

And before you laugh too hard, I'd like to ask you a couple of questions.  Don't dermatologists now use acid to remove warts?  Can you think of anything more acidic than a rotten potato?

3 July 2001

Copyright © 2001 Aline T. Meaux, Abbeville, LA

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