Laid Out in Lavender

With the sweetest of voices, I can tell a person about a cabbage eating cow and will be thanked for all my words.
Additionally, I can spring forth as Evelyn Couch, driving with lots of insurance.  Take that, you heffer, and while you’re at it, enjoy this, too. Fannie Flagg told us all about it in Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café.

[Evelyn is cut off in a parking lot]
Hey! I was waiting for that spot!
Face it, lady, we're younger and faster!
[Evelyn rear-ends the other car six times]
What are you *doing*?
Are you *crazy*?
Evelyn Couch: Face it, girls, I'm older and I have more insurance.

Legendary tales of miraculous survival are told around campfires. Those who have had their guts stomped out and their legs cut off by my tongue share hair-raising details.  Car salesmen spring to mind.  I once made a furious U-turn, drove back to a car dealership, and said what I’d forgotten to mention.  Nothing was welling up inside that was not allowed to escape.
I’ve explained to business owners how their establishments would go up in flames and their livelihoods down the toilet when I finished the incantation they deserved, how nothing would remain of  the brick and mortar but a bad memory. One particular Shoney’s burned within weeks.        
Did you know that telephone operators pull the plug if language wounds their hyper-sensitivity? That was a time before cell phones, and I needed money, right then. The ATM would not comply. How a telephone operator got between me, my ex-husband, and $30 I don’t recall. When I’m on a roll, I tumble head over heels, picking up speed as I race down-hill to the cesspool. Just don’t get me started.

Evelyn Couch: I never get mad, Miss Threadgoode, never, the way I was raised, it was bad manners. Well I got mad, and it felt great. I felt like I could just beat the shit out of all those punks! Excuse my language. And then when I finish with those punks, I'll take on all the wife beaters like Frank Bennett, machine gun their genitals.
Towanda will go on a rampage, I'll slip tiny bombs into Penthouse and Playboys so they explode when you open them. I'll ban all fashion models who weigh under 130 pounds! And I'll give half the military budget to people over 65 and declare wrinkles sexually desirable.

I’m reading Sullivan’s Island by Dorothea Benton Frank.  The narrator, Susan Hayes, shares an episode involving her Catholic school’s bus driver who prayed, said Hail Marys, and alternately cursed at the rough-neck boys causing holy terror in the back of the bus.  She, according to narrator Susan, was “pissed off in purple.” There’s a new one.
She further explains how she politely told her soon-to-be ex-husband’s floosy to leave tales of sexual adventure out of conversations with their daughter.  I was highlighting on my Kindle and laughing until tears ruined my eye makeup and the black drippings blinded me.  The end of the conversation, with sweetness dripping from her lips:  “You’ll find concubine and repugnant in the dictionary – if you own one- which I seriously doubt.” I’d say she “laid her out in lavender.”
“Laid out in lavender” is new vocabulary for me. Shared with me by a sweet friend, this phrase once meant to physically beat someone unconscious.  How rude. The lavender masked the smell of the dead body.  Ruder, still.  Today, it means a verbal tongue-lashing.
I'm told that if a person uses a word (phrase) frequently, it will cement to the memory. I don’t think there will be a problem.