"Bitch don't know how to swim. Bitch need to learn how to swim wit da sharks."

"What?" my Grandmother said.

"You see, whatchoo need he'ah is a metafough."

"A what?" she spluttered.

"A metafough!" he insisted.

We weren't in uptown anymore.

"I think what the kind doctor is trying to say is that it helps to use metaphor to explain your condition, Grandma," I said, waxing poetic to his accented jargon.

God love her, but my granny is a racist old bitch. Nobody would be more happy to see her kick that bucket more than me, were it not for my Papa. That old man loves her to pieces, despite her filthy white-trash mouth.

"What is this nigger saying to me, Billy?"

I'd half a mind to slap her, blood family aside, but fortunately the kindly doctor didn't hear her. I shooshed her and she hollered to high hell.

"Yous in need of a trans-plant."