Where I’m From . . .
Sent to me by my mother, probably in an attempt to remind me of my roots. After all, where I’m from the key question is: “But who is his [or her] family?” Hell, where I’m from we cut the hair off dead relatives and weave decorative wreaths adorned with pressed flowers . . . Yeah, it’s macabre. In that Southern Gothic kind of way.
And it also freaks people out when I slip into a “Suthun” accent . . .
typically “dripping with charm”
Who Counts as a Southern Gentleman
Men in Uniform
Men in Tuxedos
Rhett Butler (though we settle for Clark Gable)
Three Deadly Sins for a Southern Woman
bad hair & nails
Things Only True Southerners Know
- the difference between a hissy fit and a conniption fit (and that you “pitch” a fit, never “have” one)
- how many of anything make up “a mess” or “a passel”
- exactly how long a time “directly” [pr. “direckly”] is (i.e., “Gone to town, be back directly.”) Same is true of “by and by”
Just for fun, I’ll add an old Joe Boudreaux joke here. (For those who don’t know, Joe Boudreaux is an Acadian folk hero featured in many jokes.)
Joe Boudreaux was driving to visit a friend who’d moved out past Houma somewhere, and while he was driving he got turned around. He started to think he was driving in circles! Then Joe came to a crossroads, and at that crossroads was a young boy of about age nine or ten. Joe stopped the car, rolled down the window, pointed down the road in front of him and asked the boy, “If I go down this road here, where I be at?”
“I don’t know, me,” the boy said.
Joe Boudreaux pointed down a side road. “Well, if I go down this road here, where I be at?”
But the boy shook his head. “I don’t know, me.”
Joe pointed the other direction. “And if I go down that road there, where I be at?”
“I don’t know, me.”
“You don’t know much, do ya?” snapped a frustrated Joe Boudreaux.
But the boy just stared at him placidly and answered, “Well, I ain’t the one who’s lost.”