Ten Cent Paint

Dear Mr. Newman,

I got complaint about one can of ten cent paint. My wife she buy from you're store, and now by cripes, I'm good and sore. You see last week, the spring she come, and everything has been on the bum. De walls, de floors and windows too, is dirty. Sacre mon dieu.

Now my wife, she's clean and neat, so she buy paint for toilet seat. For one whole week, we watch with eye, but that ten cent paint, no get dry. My wife no tall, she kinda fat. So now we see where she sat. She got ring all around her complete, where she sat on toilet seat.

I say to her it serves you right. You try to be so derned tight. That ten cent paint, she's no good, she won't dry on any wood. My daughter to bet ring around, where she sit down. For one whole week we wait, now we all are constipate.

My wife got sister named Marie, she live all the time with me. Last night I look where she sat down. By golly, she got ring all around. I try to wipe off with turpentine. She howl like she lose her mind. I'm scared all that day. The skin she come off but the paint she stay.

Now Mr. Newman I ask you, what the devil we gonna do? How can the house be nice and neat, if the paint won't dry on toilet seat?

Comments: 5

carolyn koen Jan 20, 2007, 2:12am EST

This was published in the Kentwood, La. newspaper on July 27, 1939. In the 6th grade I had to get up in front of the entire school, and recite a poem. My Mom picked this one out for me to recite. It was one of my Mom's favorite poems. I had the audience laughing there butts off. I'm not sure if it was the poem they were laughing at, or my hideous Cajun accent.