I don't have the slightest clue as to how things work up North as I have never lived there and never plan to, but I do know a few Southern girls that have found themselves transplanted under the big city lights. From what I've been told, you don't know who your neighbors are and people aren't exactly friendly.
I can recall one phone call in particular from a girlfriend that lives in New York that just about breaks my heart.
Melinda rang me up one night and when I answered the phone she was just about in tears.
"What's the matter, doll?"
"My neighbors are just awful! I made a plate of cookies and went up the hall to introduce myself to everyone. I got two doors slammed in my face, one man accused me of trying to solicit him, and everyone else threatened to call the police on me!"
Y'all I was just floored by this. Since when does anyone turn away their neighbor or home-made cookies? I can only conclude that they missed out on some valuable home training, because nothing else makes sense in this case.
Around here, your neighbors are your allies. You might not always like them, you might not agree with their political views, and you might not go to the same church, but you had better believe that when push comes to shove and you need two eggs and a half cup of sugar to finish cupcakes for the bake sale, that your neighbor is going to be more than happy to help you out.
Why do we behave so, you ask? It's simple, momma taught us that it is right to be friendly and give when needed.
For those of you that didn't learn that, I'm going to break it down for you, real nice and pretty like.
When someone needs reassurance that everything is going to be okay and life will go on, you reassure them. When someone is sick and needs a hand keeping up with their yard or picking their kids up from school, you do it for them. When someone has lost a loved one and needs solace, you extend your sympathy and drop off a casserole.
It's the basic principle behind being Southern, a chain of action if you will. You do for someone when they need it, and you had better believe that when your time comes they will be right there to return the favor.
If everyone is good to everyone then things can't help but be a little better, now can they?
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
"I feel a hissy coming on." -Momma
We have come quite a good ways since wearing corsets and fainting into the arms of a big, strong man, but one thing we have in common with our Southern sisters of days gone by is the quality of our temper.
I'm sure you've heard the old adage, 'hell hath no fury like a woman scorned', well, whatever genius thought that one up had obviously never met a girl from down home Dixie who is having a bad hair day, locked her keys and cell phone in her car, and just found out that her boyfriend is sneaking around with some hussy in the next town. If the so-called genius had experienced this, the adage would read more along the lines of, 'hell hath no fury like a hissy.'
Not so long ago, I was in an aiport, DFW to be exact, getting ready to board an early morning flight to Tampa, a flight that required two layovers, for the record. Now, as I am not an early morning person, I had stayed up all night to get ready and make the three hour drive to Dallas, while avoiding rush hour gridlock, to get my happy rear end on the plane, hopefully, without incident. Apparently, the airline had other plans for me.
As I arrived at the check in counter, I was faced with the unpleasant realization that I would be checking in via kiosk. (Yes, I do realize that it saves both time and money for the airline, but I am one of those people that prefer to do business face to face- blame my momma.)
"Buck up," I told myself, "if you can apply lipstick while driving a standard in Dallas traffic, you can use a darn kiosk."
Wrong. The kiosk cannot find my ticket. Thankfully, a lovely airline worker came to my aid, assisted me at a normal ticket counter then, just when I thought my day was looking up, the lovely airline employee informs me that I will not be able to carry my luggage on boards, and I will have to pay X amount to check it.
Y'all, I was hot. When it comes to airports, I don't mess around. I carefully measure my bags because I refuse to check them, (aka ask for them to go missing) I don't carry liquids, not even hairspray, I don't put my jewelry on until I've gone through security, and I am absolutely not one of the people wearing sweatpants and no make-up. If you ask me, I am practically the poster child for airport rules.
So when this lovely airline employee dares ask me to pay to check my carry on, I saw about eight different shades of red. Let me just take a moment to say that she is very lucky that momma raised me right or else I would've had an epic fit right there at the check in counter.
Instead, I took a deep breath and looked the lovely airline employee dead in the eye.
"Ma'am," I said, "I feel a hissy coming on."
Y'all she looked confused, obviously, she had no idea what a hissy was, what she should do, or if the only option she had was to call security.
"I don't want to cause a scene or talk to your supervisor, but I haven't slept in twenty-four hours, I'm not in the best of moods, and I need to be on a plane in about thirty minutes so, I'm going to need you to click-clack on your keyboard and arrange for me to carry on my luggage as I had planned, that way you don't have to explain why some lady is throwing a hissy in your lobby, and you never have to see me again. Trust me, ma'am. it would benefit both of us."
I smiled sweetly and squared my shoulders, waiting to see what her reaction would be. Wouldn't you know it, she click-clacked on her keyboard, and mere seconds later I was on my way, carry on in one hand and my newly upgraded to first class ticket in the other.
While I am quite pleased with my airport incident, it made me realize two things.
One: The world at large doesn't know about Southern temper tantrums.
Two: Even though the world at large doesn't know, they still fear and respect them.
This leads me to believe that it is my duty to inform the masses on behalf of Dixie.
Y'all pay attention now; this just might save your skin someday.
There are two distinct types of temper tantrums: a hissy fit and a conniption fit.
A hissy fit is more of a slow burn type of affair that builds up over time, and by time it can be a matter of years, months, days, or hours. When a series of events occur, one on top of the other and each progressively worse, a hissy fit is bound to happen. Now, a hissy fit is typically what the younger generation of Southern girls will have, and when a hissy is brewing it is reffered to in an exact manner. "I feel a hissy coming on."
When a hissy is being had it can produce tears, screams, objects being thrown, and other general mayhem, but this is only if the person at the recieving end of the hissy doesn't comply with our wishes. For example, the lovely airline employee click-clacked on her keyboard and nipped it at the bud.
A conniption fit is something that you earn with age, as in at the age of 18 one is not able to throw a conniption fit because one lacks the wisodm of a momma that has seen what the world is about and raised a pack of kids in spite of it all. It's a privilege, really.
Speaking from my own personal experiences, when a conniption fit is occurring, you had better hope that you are:
One: not the cause of it.
Two: not related to the cause of it.
Three: aren't in a five mile radius of it.
Four: it isn't your momma having it.
When referring to a conniption fit, one might say something along the lines of, "Momma is going to have a conniption fit when she hears about this."
Or, "My momma just about had a conniption fit when she saw what I was wearing."
Y'all remember, you can have, throw, or pitch a fit, and you had better stay out of the way if some Southern Belle feels one coming on.
I'm sure you've heard the old adage, 'hell hath no fury like a woman scorned', well, whatever genius thought that one up had obviously never met a girl from down home Dixie who is having a bad hair day, locked her keys and cell phone in her car, and just found out that her boyfriend is sneaking around with some hussy in the next town. If the so-called genius had experienced this, the adage would read more along the lines of, 'hell hath no fury like a hissy.'
Not so long ago, I was in an aiport, DFW to be exact, getting ready to board an early morning flight to Tampa, a flight that required two layovers, for the record. Now, as I am not an early morning person, I had stayed up all night to get ready and make the three hour drive to Dallas, while avoiding rush hour gridlock, to get my happy rear end on the plane, hopefully, without incident. Apparently, the airline had other plans for me.
As I arrived at the check in counter, I was faced with the unpleasant realization that I would be checking in via kiosk. (Yes, I do realize that it saves both time and money for the airline, but I am one of those people that prefer to do business face to face- blame my momma.)
"Buck up," I told myself, "if you can apply lipstick while driving a standard in Dallas traffic, you can use a darn kiosk."
Wrong. The kiosk cannot find my ticket. Thankfully, a lovely airline worker came to my aid, assisted me at a normal ticket counter then, just when I thought my day was looking up, the lovely airline employee informs me that I will not be able to carry my luggage on boards, and I will have to pay X amount to check it.
Y'all, I was hot. When it comes to airports, I don't mess around. I carefully measure my bags because I refuse to check them, (aka ask for them to go missing) I don't carry liquids, not even hairspray, I don't put my jewelry on until I've gone through security, and I am absolutely not one of the people wearing sweatpants and no make-up. If you ask me, I am practically the poster child for airport rules.
So when this lovely airline employee dares ask me to pay to check my carry on, I saw about eight different shades of red. Let me just take a moment to say that she is very lucky that momma raised me right or else I would've had an epic fit right there at the check in counter.
Instead, I took a deep breath and looked the lovely airline employee dead in the eye.
"Ma'am," I said, "I feel a hissy coming on."
Y'all she looked confused, obviously, she had no idea what a hissy was, what she should do, or if the only option she had was to call security.
"I don't want to cause a scene or talk to your supervisor, but I haven't slept in twenty-four hours, I'm not in the best of moods, and I need to be on a plane in about thirty minutes so, I'm going to need you to click-clack on your keyboard and arrange for me to carry on my luggage as I had planned, that way you don't have to explain why some lady is throwing a hissy in your lobby, and you never have to see me again. Trust me, ma'am. it would benefit both of us."
I smiled sweetly and squared my shoulders, waiting to see what her reaction would be. Wouldn't you know it, she click-clacked on her keyboard, and mere seconds later I was on my way, carry on in one hand and my newly upgraded to first class ticket in the other.
While I am quite pleased with my airport incident, it made me realize two things.
One: The world at large doesn't know about Southern temper tantrums.
Two: Even though the world at large doesn't know, they still fear and respect them.
This leads me to believe that it is my duty to inform the masses on behalf of Dixie.
Y'all pay attention now; this just might save your skin someday.
There are two distinct types of temper tantrums: a hissy fit and a conniption fit.
A hissy fit is more of a slow burn type of affair that builds up over time, and by time it can be a matter of years, months, days, or hours. When a series of events occur, one on top of the other and each progressively worse, a hissy fit is bound to happen. Now, a hissy fit is typically what the younger generation of Southern girls will have, and when a hissy is brewing it is reffered to in an exact manner. "I feel a hissy coming on."
When a hissy is being had it can produce tears, screams, objects being thrown, and other general mayhem, but this is only if the person at the recieving end of the hissy doesn't comply with our wishes. For example, the lovely airline employee click-clacked on her keyboard and nipped it at the bud.
A conniption fit is something that you earn with age, as in at the age of 18 one is not able to throw a conniption fit because one lacks the wisodm of a momma that has seen what the world is about and raised a pack of kids in spite of it all. It's a privilege, really.
Speaking from my own personal experiences, when a conniption fit is occurring, you had better hope that you are:
One: not the cause of it.
Two: not related to the cause of it.
Three: aren't in a five mile radius of it.
Four: it isn't your momma having it.
When referring to a conniption fit, one might say something along the lines of, "Momma is going to have a conniption fit when she hears about this."
Or, "My momma just about had a conniption fit when she saw what I was wearing."
Y'all remember, you can have, throw, or pitch a fit, and you had better stay out of the way if some Southern Belle feels one coming on.
Monday, June 28, 2010
"Just because it fits doesn't mean you ought to wear it." -Momma
I don't care who you ask or what they tell you, being Southern is a birthright. When someone tells me. "Well, I wasn't born in the South, but I got here as fast as I could." I simply smile at them and say, "Then darlin', you ain't Southern."
Of course, I really draw on my words and say 'ain't' when I make that statement, which isn't how I typically speak, but sometimes you just have to get your point across.
It has recently occurred to me that while life in the South has progressed just as much as it has else where across the Mason-Dixon line, some people, notice I didn't call y'all Yankees, still think that we ride our horses to work and name all of our sons Junior. It just isn't so, and I aim to clear up some of the mystery that causes this confusion. So go on and pour yourself a glass of sweet tea, have a seat on the front porch, and allow me to share with you just what it means to be a Southern lady in these modern times.
Of course, I really draw on my words and say 'ain't' when I make that statement, which isn't how I typically speak, but sometimes you just have to get your point across.
It has recently occurred to me that while life in the South has progressed just as much as it has else where across the Mason-Dixon line, some people, notice I didn't call y'all Yankees, still think that we ride our horses to work and name all of our sons Junior. It just isn't so, and I aim to clear up some of the mystery that causes this confusion. So go on and pour yourself a glass of sweet tea, have a seat on the front porch, and allow me to share with you just what it means to be a Southern lady in these modern times.
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