Alice: The question is, whether you can make a word mean so many different things.

Humpty Dumpty: The question is, which is master?" – from Though the Looking Glass

When Mary Grace announces on Tuesday at the DooDah luncheon that the pot man is coming on Thursday, my eyebrows shoot up.

"Pot man? You gotta be kidding."

Mary Grace is considered by some to be a DooDah's answer to Klinger of T.V.'s M.A.S.H, the definitive black market, "I-can-get-it-for-you wholesale connection for just about anything. Even so, the idea that she can call up the pot man and have him deliver the goods to her doorstep is impressive.

"He'll be in his truck at 11:30 sharp and will park right in front of my house."

Whoa! I must be hearing things. "Hold on a minute, Mary Grace. He's bringing a truck? My Lord. He must have a lot of product."

Mary Grace knows the pot man personally. She's bought from him many times before.

"He carries a huge variety. You won't believe what all. It's hard for me to decide which pot I like the best," she tells us.

Alice said it first: "Curiouser and curiouser."

As it happens, I am not the only one within earshot who finds this conversation curious. Our server has been hovering at Mary Grace's elbow since the minute she mentioned the pot man's upcoming visit.

Ladye Gail snaps off her cell phone, cocks her head to the side and says, "Mary Grace, I want to know how much he charges." "How much for what?" Mary Grace asks, puzzled.

"For what he's selling. I need to know if I'm gonna have to take out a bank loan." She grins.

An audible hum of "uh-huhs" circulates from one DooDah to the next.

Peggy Sue clears her throat. "I need to know is if he'll take VISA or Master Card."

Mary Grace frowns. "I don't know about that, Peggy Sue. I always pay him in cash and he seems to like it. That way, he doesn't have to report the sale."

At this, the server standing in rapt attention just behind her chair, drops a tray full of glasses that splashes ice water down the front of Mary Grace's new silk blouse. She jumps up like she's been cow-prodded, squealing like a pig. The rest of us grab napkins and begin blotting her blouse from all directions.

The server turns ten shades of crimson and then bolts out of the room like a scalded dog.

"What was that all about?" Mary Grace is fuming.

I stare at her as if she's been struck dumb as dirt. "What do you think? He was standing behind you and heard every word you said."

"So what? Maybe he enjoys growing things."

By this time, the other Doodahs are back sitting in their respective seats waiting to hear what Mary Grace will say when she fesses up. My brows are hooked together and looking a lot like Mary Grace's crinkled up silk blouse.

"You mean to tell me the pot man sells stuff so you can grow your own? That goes way beyond illegal, if you ask me, Mary Grace."

Slowly, she turns her head toward my frowning face. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Duh! A man drives right up to your door in a big ol' truck in order to sell you some pot. Not only that, he'll even show you how to grow it. It might be legal in California for medicinal purposes, but I don't think that trendy little concept will hit Georgia anytime in the next hundred years."

She opens her mouth to speak but bursts out laughing instead. She doubles over. Tears collect in pools around her eyes. "You are way too blonde sometimes!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The pot man sells pots with an 'S,' not Pot pot." She is holding her sides and laughing out of control. "Good Lord! No wonder that server dumped water all over my new silk blouse. Shoot! I bet he flew back to the kitchen to take orders — and I'm not talking about the soup de jour."

"Contrariwise, if it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn't, it ain't. That's logic." –Tweedledee, from Through the Looking Glass