Yesterday a Facebook friend admitted to falling through her ceiling. I had to tell her this story, famous among the Shaws.
My Uncle Bill was an electrician. This day his baby brother Jack was his assistant. When they arrived at the house their knock was answered by a prim older lady who sweetly and with great condescension explained that, "If you boys do a good job and don't leave a mess..." (in her upscale spotless Atlanta home) "...I'll give y'all a big bag of apples to take with you."
Later while Bill worked on the outlet in the bedroom below and Jack snaked a new wire across the attic, Jack lost his balance. Suddenly Bill was covered with dust and and debris and, looking up, saw Jack's legs dangling from a tangle of insulation, sheetrock, and wiring. Without a pause he looked into Jack's frightened eyes peering down through the dust cloud, shook his head sadly, and chuckled these immortal words, "You done lost yo' apples."
In the forty-five or so years since then, every mess-up in our family has elicited that retort: "You done lost yo' apples."
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