One Thang After Another

by Myrna McAdam Mills

It's like this: In Texas, if a woman doesn't know the term for an object, she calls it a "thang." That covers it. Or uncovers it, depending on what the thang is. And if she doesn't know, she will ask, "What is that thang?" The other person, a Texan, not knowing what the speaker is talking about, will ask, "What thang?" We understand each other. Learning the proper use of the term "thang" is essential to becoming a woman in Texas.

The Ticket

I can't see to drive at night. Well, I can see, actually, but I can't tell what thangs are.

I run a stop sign. A policeman pulls me over and I do the right thang. I cry.

He walks to my car. "Did you know you ran a stop sign?"

"I knew I ran something, but I didn't know what it was."

"Could I see your driver's license?"

I pull out my billfold and give him my MasterCard.

"This isn't your driver's license."

"Well, it looks like it." I give him my driver's license and put the MasterCard away.

"I'll have to give you a ticket."

I wait.

"You shouldn't be driving at night."

"How else am I going to get there? They only have it at night."

"What do they only have at night?"

"Driver's Ed."

The policeman shifts his weight and looks skyward.

I ask, pointing, "I hate to bother you, but what's that thang in the middle of the street?"

"It's the curb, and it's not in the middle."

He hands me the ticket and shakes his head as he walks to his car.

I hold the ticket out the window and wave at him. "What do I do with this thang?"

He turns around. "Pay it."