Camptown Ladies Read Online Free PDF

about ten years old when I finally realized it wasn’t spit but actually sweat that she left behind from her smooches—not that it bothered me less.
    Aunt Aggie was a typical older generation Italian, who never let chewing a large bite from a heavy meal delay her from talking. Once, after visiting her, I went to my sister Lisa’s, and her Miniature Doberman practically mauled my tits to get at the Aunt Aggie flecks of meatball shrapnel from the front of my shirt. Yet another clothing casualty due to an Aunt Aggie story that just couldn’t wait between bites.
    Aunt Aggie is my Dad’s older sister and despite their mature ages, they still fought like children. Case in point: Several years ago, after Uncle Freddie’s brother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, he had to come to live with Aunt Aggie and Uncle Freddie in their cramped little house. He was in his late eighties and his memory was evaporating quickly. Aunt Aggie warned Dad that Uncle Freddie’s brother had started making random phone calls.
    “Friggin’ annoying,” Aunt Aggie said. “That man can’t remember his own brother’s name, yet he’s like a walking phone book. Last week he called the friggin’ army, asking for his old sergeant that been dead for over twenty years.” Aunt Aggie said she had to keep the phone cord in her housecoat.
    One afternoon, Aunt Aggie forgot to unplug the cord and the old man called Dad. Dad picked up the phone and heard an alarming whisper on the other end of the line.
    “Sal? . . . Sal Santora, is that you?”
    “Hey there, Lou,” Dad said. “Is everything alright?”
    “No!” he said in a louder whisper, “everything is not alright. For the last few days there has been a strange woman here. She’s feeding cats. She’s outside in the yard right now!”
    Dad heard a thud. “Lou, you OK?”
    The old man continued, quieter, “That was her, slamming the door. I have no idea who this woman is. She feeds the strays, you know, which only makes them come back for more. Everyone in the neighborhood acts like it’s OK, but then she comes in the house and stays for hours. She’s been here for days!”
    Dad said to him, “Oh Lou, don’t worry. That’s probably just your brother’s wife. Freddie married Aggie, my sister, remember?”
    “But I’ve never seen this woman before,” he said.
    Dad answered, “You probably just don’t recognize her. Lou, here’s what you need to do. After you hang up the phone, go tell the woman to put on some makeup and get her fat ass to the hairdresser. You tell her she needs to put more of an effort into her appearance because she’s scaring you. Got it?”
    “I guess so,” he said.
    “Repeat it back to me, soldier,” Dad said, and the old man repeated back every word. Dad said, “Now go tell the woman, OK?
    “Yes, sir. I do like that man she calls Freddie,” the old man said.
    “Freddie’s your brother. Now go tell the cat lady what I said.”
    “To put more of an effort into her appearance,” the old man repeated.
    “Because her ugly face is scaring you,” Dad said.
    “Yes, sir,” the old man said, before hanging up.
    As Aunt Aggie retold the story over the years, she said it was the last bit of instruction the old man remembered perfectly, and every time she told the story Dad would end up laughing so hard he would cry and snort until Mom yelled at him to leave the table.

     
    Aunt Aggie and Uncle Freddie arrived at Camptown Ladies every day like clockwork, and Aunt Aggie emerged from the car in a series of dainty groans, the vehicle rising a half a foot as she did. She outstretched each arm to point to a wayward piece of trash she thought Freddie should pick up, but I knew it was actually to release the underside of her heavy arms from her sleeveless housecoat. Her arms would plop out and glisten like the mounds of homemade dough Dad made on Calzone Sundays. In fact, one of Aunt Aggie’s most admirable qualities was that her fat arms were the exact matte white