That’s what my husband calls me. Tawanda. Remember Fried Green Tomatoes? When Kathy Bates goes berserk, repeatedly ramming her hoopty-mobile into the car of the pernicious youthful mocker who had cut her off in the parking lot of the Piggly Wiggly? (Or was it Winn-Dixie? I can’t keep my southern supermarkets straight.) Or when she decided […]
