Here goes:

This woman at the doctor's office who sat there almost six hours like I did started leaning over and talking to me. She said she had a dislocated toe and had to have shots now and then to ease the pain. So we got to talkin' about the year anniversary of Katrina, and she said her best friend with "beautiful long blonde hair" had stayed in Waveland with her older husband (who was found right off), and she was not found until five weeks later after Rita stirred up the ocean and a few bodies came to the surface (three miles off-shore), and her friend was one of them. Her parents couldn't do it so she had to go and identify her. She described her ... which I might not repeat even though it would make interesting journalism. Bless their hearts. Bless their hearts.

Now the story she did tell in detail was waking up one morning and having on a gown (and "no drawers") and decidin' she needed a paint can which was out in the carport, so she dashed out (there was a store right next door), and she grabbed the paint can, and there was a rattlesnake coiled up right there which struck at her and got its fangs all tangled up in her gown.

Okay, now what would you have done? She hollered out and kicked and kicked trying to get that evil poisonous, SATAN'S OWN, kicked off from her, but it would not let go except to flounder around. She kicked into a '68 Ford and dislocated her toe as she ripped her gown from her body yellin' to a man comin' out of the store to "save her," exposing her nakedness and hurtin' her toe and all, and the snake being all evil and upset and not letting go, and the man jumpin' into his car in the store parking lot and haulin' butt.

Ha! So much for female nakedness. Maybe men only like it if there is no trouble attached.