QOD: Your superpower is that you smell like dandelions whenever someone lies. How will you maintain your secret identity?

See y’all got yourself some a Missy Lang’s dandelion wine. Have yourself a nice time over to her house? No, no, Missy ain’t that purty young thing putterin’ ‘round the garden—that’s Missy’s granddaughter or maybe some sorta great-niece or whatnot. Cain’t remember ‘xactly, but they’s kin, anyhow. Louise, I’m thinkin’ her name is.

That’s right, Missy’s old as them hills out her back door. Caught sight a her, didja? She been makin’ that wine, they say, since she was a bitty thing. Heared a tale ‘bout it, oh, a great while back, but ain’t certain sure they’s a bit a truth to it. Well, sure, if y’all got the time. Don’t mind repeatin’ what I heared, but I ain’t puttin’ a hand on my heart to swear.

Seems Missy’s momma had a right fierce hatin’ a any dee-viation from god’s own truth. Had her a fella, see, what had him a silver tongue. I see y’all noddin’ ‘cause y’all heared two thousand forty nine versions a this sad story. So poor gal takes ta sittin’ on her stoop sighin’ whilst that belly a hers rounds up. Folks gits to thinkin’ there ain’t no way they’s gonna git her pried off them steps, but one day she commences walkin’ ‘round the holler, pickin’ all them dandelions what’s gone to seed. Yup, she plucks ‘em up, gives ‘em a twirl, ‘n’ blows them lacy pixie umbeerellas all over. Oh, y’all can bet they was a bumper crop a them dandelions next year. Not that they couldn’t see it comin’ but nary a body in this here holler was wantin’ ta stop her seedin’ ‘em like she done. Least she warn’t just sittin’ there sighin’ her poor heart out.

Missy come into the world with snow piled up ‘round the chimneys. She were a right sober chil’ that Missy. Her ma couldn’t bear no teasin’ nor tellin’ tales ‘round her young’un. Now, whether she were keen on keepin’ that gal from tellin’ fibs like her long lost pa, or whether she only meant to give her an ear for the truth, I cain’t say.

When Missy was comin’ up on three years, just getting’ so she talked ‘nough to make some sense, her momma’s uncle come visitin’ from far off. Might be they’s another whole tale right there, but this ain’t the time ‘n’ I’d be havin’ to chat with ol’ Ebeneezer first to be gettin’ it straight. Anyhow, this ol’ uncle gits in talkin’ to Missy ‘bout Santa, askin’ if she done wrote out her list. Now y’all are thinkin’ her momma come down hard on that uncle, ‘n’ y’all would be sniffin’ down the right track on that, but that weren’t the thing to git put in a tale. Seems like as that ol’ uncle gits on with his storytellin’ that bitty gal commences smellin’ a fresh dandelions.

Y’all knows how folks gits on strange happenin’s; ain’t long afore the holler gots ‘bout seventy-three versions a what ‘n’ how, not to mention why for. Then they’s folks gotta go test the damn thing out. Ain’t long afore it comes clear: that poor chil’ gits smellin’ a dandelions if’n anybody goes ‘n’ tells a fib anywheres near her.

Just think on that for a spell. Kids is skeered a playin’ with Missy, knowin’ she’ll git to smellin’ out the lies, so to speak. Grown folk ain’t any better. Don’t say it ain’t amiss to go tellin’ lies, but just the same it ain’t such a pleasant thing tellin’ the gosh durn truth all the time, neither. Even the reverend’s wife got a right to do a bit a stretchin’ now ‘n’ again.

Missy commenced wearin’ dandelions in her hair, making posies to stuff in her pockets, ‘n’ even lined her little socks with ‘em. Kids took that okay ‘cause now who could tell the difference? Missy smelled like dandelions all the time. So while them purty little flowers was bloomin’ life warn’t bad for that little gal. ‘Course, ain’t no flower bloom all year. Winters was long ‘n’ hard ‘n’ lonely.

Don’t know when Missy took to capturing that smell by makin’ dandelion wine. Might be her momma seen what her own fear done to her young’un ‘n’ thought it up herself. Anyhow, it brung a right good income ‘n’ them two did theyselves proud sellin’ pints ‘n’ quarts a the stuff.

Years later, some feller took to sittin’ on the stoop with Missy, who was all growed up by then. Maybe he starts out tellin’ what’s true, but sippin’ that wine he gits right inventive. Could be he just couldn’t never git enough a that dandelion smell. As for Missy, seems she commenced laughin’ at him one night. Never did stop, neither, ‘til they laid him in his grave sixty-four years after.