Cajun Girl Quotes

I’m sorry are only words unless you know what you’re apologizing for.

Yeah, thanks, Gina,” Clarissa chimes in. “Now they’ll all think I’m a ho.” “If the shoe fits, lace that bitch up.

She’s not in love,” Spence answers in a mocking tone. “The girl done went and got dickstruck.

My favorite quote in my first book is: "We will always make mistakes, turn left when we should have gone right, but Love (God) waits patiently for us at all the wrong turns.

my heart breaks into a million tiny pieces for this man, who lost the love of his life.

Mrs. Elaine crosses herself, mumbling a string of curses beneath her breath. The sign of the cross and a string of profanities… that about sums this woman up perfectly, God love her.

H—his hand is all up under there, and he’s poking his ball sack, so I’m all, ‘What the hell are you doing, Kyle?’ and he lifts his head, serious as shit, and says, ‘Remember when I told you I losed my marbles? I musta swallowed two of ’em, cuz I found ’em. They’re in my nuts!’ 

While Dixieland men may have struggled with a language inferiority complex, the opposite is true of Southern women. We’ve always known our accent is an asset, a special trait that makes us stand out from our Northern peers in all the best ways. For one thing, men can’t resist it. Our slow, musical speech drips with charm, and with the implied delights of a long, slow afternoon sipping home-brewed tea on the back porch. In educated circles, Southern speech is considered aristocratic, and for good reason: it is far closer linguistically to the Queen’s English than any other American accent. Scottish, Irish, and rural English formed the basis of our language years ago, and the accent has held strong ever since. In the poor hill country there haven’t been many other linguistic influences, and in Charleston you’d be hard pressed to tell a British tourist from a native. In the Delta of Mississippi and Louisiana, the mixture of French, West Indian, and Southern formed two dialects--Cajun and Creole--that in some places are far more like French than English.

our cruise director just happened to be recruiting eight men to compete in a lip sync battle.

rendition of “Supermodel (You Better Work)” by none other than RuPaul!

I fall forward, in what feels like slow motion, landing with my face right in the lap of an older gentleman sporting a bright blue Speedo. To make matters worse—you mean it actually gets worse than a face full of wrinkled, hairy balls? Yes. Yes, it does, because I can’t get up. Blinding pain shoots up my leg from my rolled ankle.

I want you, Tink. God, I want you in every fucking way. I want you in my house and in my bed. At my breakfast table and sitting beside me at church on Sundays. I want your girly shit littering the counters in my bathroom and your soap in my shower.

Via the power of the swamplands I cast a double-decker Gris-Gris on my pirogue, to give Ol’ Alfonse a VERY, Very Nasty bellyache.” “Hey now Cricket,” How-Ya-Do scolded, “you better watch-out playing around with them Voodoo spells.” “Says who,” Cricket countered combatively. “You know you ain’t supposed to Conja no Gris-Gris. You be just “a little Cajun-girl,” not a Voodoo Priestess, like Madame Teche” How-Ya-Do reminded her, “what are you gonna do if that Gris-Gris bounces off of a tree `n whammies somebody-else by mistake?

As long as I live, when I think about Louisiana, I'll remember glistening mist on a Cajun girl's hair, and walking together under those live oak trees, and being happy.

Maybe you should finally give the girl Pop's number, and I don't know, be her friend." "Just like that." "It's friendship, Harley, not rocket science.

On Christmas Eve, big cone-shaped bonfires that stretched for miles atop the levees would be lit to help Papa Noel, the Cajun version of Santa, find his way through the river parishes to leave presents for all the girls and boys.

This vacation is the dumbest idea I’ve ever had. Vangie’s got a boyfriend, I twisted my ankle, my dick got puked on, and I was sexually harassed by a fucking dolphin.

my glass as I spoke. “I can’t go into details, but Francis Allard is dead.” Monica Toups gasped out loud and almost dropped her glass. “He’s dead? But I just spoke with him last week. It…but what happened?” “Like I said, I can’t get into it, but I do need to ask you about a girl’s graduation ring he might’ve had in his possession.” “Oh, yeah, that was Sarah’s ring. He wouldn’t tell me how he came to have it, but he said it was in Derrick Landry’s possession.” “Did you find that suspicious?” “No, I knew about it.” She excused herself and went inside the house. When she returned, she was holding a boy’s graduation ring. She handed it to me. “This was Derrick’s graduation ring. He had Sarah’s ring and she had his. I didn’t find out about it until after we lost her. I’ve been tempted to approach him and get the ring back, but I don’t trust myself around him. If I wouldn’t hit him, I’d definitely spit in his face, because deep down in my heart, I know he’s responsible for what happened to Sarah.” I mulled over what I had learned. A possibility was starting to emerge. “Do you think she went out on the lake with Derrick?” “That’s what Phil thinks.” She frowned. “I’m just not sure how Derrick’s involved, but I know he is.” “What does Phil think?” “He thinks Derrick picked Sarah up at the front of the street and they went to the lake. He thinks they were in a boating accident and Derrick left Sarah to drown. He believes Derrick’s dad was called and they cleaned up the debris before the police could get to the lake and investigate.” “Why would he make such an effort to cover up an accident?” “Because he would go to jail for statutory rape, that’s why, and it would ruin any chances of him getting a football scholarship.” She grunted. “He used to walk around bragging that he would be the next Cajun Cannon and that he would play for the Saints someday.” “I’m guessing that didn’t happen.” “No, he ended up running his dad’s store. He never did go to college, and I’ve often wondered if the guilt was too much for him to bear.” I still didn’t have any evidence on Derrick Landry, and I knew Monica Toups didn’t have any answers, so I wrapped up my visit with her. “Will you please find out what happened to my daughter?” “I’ll do my best, ma’am,” I said, wondering if I should be making such a promise. After all, Francis Allard made a similar promise, and look what happened to him. CHAPTER 26 While it had started out nice and cool, the day had quickly turned hot. Despite the canopy over the boat, Susan was dripping sweat. She glanced over at Melvin. He was also swimming in his clothes. “I’m seeing shell casings behind every clump of mud,” Melvin mumbled as he turned away from the monitor on the endoscope and rubbed his tired eyes. “I think we’ve found all there is to find.” Susan was thoughtful. They had located a total of twenty-four casings and Clint and Amy had located one, so there were still

You’d think I’d enjoy having the chance to go out and hook up, but I’m left feeling so hollow the next morning. It’s at those times I miss my wife more than ever—where I mourn the intimacy that goes along with sex when there are feelings involved.

There was something about a man who could say darlin’ in a husky, slow croon that could make any girl melt.