The very best part about blogging is getting the chance to meet amazing women all over the country. I so enjoy our internet chats! Keep writing!
One of those women is the smart, sassy, witty Heidi of Heidilux (or whatever). She wrote about my beloved South (yes, it is capitalized!), which I miss dearly. Take it away, Heidi:
Over 10 years ago I met and soon married a good ol’ Southern boy. He calls his father “daddy” and his mother “mama” and always says “yes sir” and “no, ma’am”. He sold his “jacked up” (as in unnecessarily large tires on a lift kit) 4-wheel drive pick-up truck to buy my wedding ring. He loves to eat boiled peanuts. He often sports University of Georgia socks. Coca cola runs in his veins instead of blood. He is the epitome of the South to me.
I had always harbored a not so secret desire to live in the South, due to my love of Gone with the Wind and Forrest Gump. After my husband and I had been married for a year, we moved to Tuscaloosa, Alabama. I thought I had a pretty good idea of what Southern living was like: football stadiums visible from space, high concentration of beauty queens, accents so thick and rich you could bottle and sell them for breakfast. What I didn’t realize was how truly nice Southerners are. My first week in Tuscaloosa, I spent 30 minutes talking to a woman in line whom I had never met before. At first I thought, “She must think I am someone else” or “she’s obviously drunk if she is sharing this much personal information with a perfect stranger at the grocery store” or “she’s about to try and sell me some Mary Kay.” I soon realized that she was just friendly. Simple as that. Genuine niceness is such a rare thing these days that I didn’t even recognize it. I grew up a Midwesterner, and we pride ourselves on being plain old regular nice people. I was truly surprised at how above and beyond kind so many Southerners were. A few weeks later at my new job I was trying to take a client’s information so that I could review his account with him. That poor man must have thought I was from a foreign country and I know I was thinking the same thing about him. His name was Mose Billingsley. He had an accent as thick as molasses in January. For the life of me I could not understand what he was saying. He must have repeated his name 10 times. He finally wrote it down for me on a piece of paper. I was so embarrassed and I thought he would yell at me for my lack of comprehension. But he was so kind. I tried to apologize profusely but he was wouldn’t let me. He just laughed it off, even though the whole exchange to 5 times as long as it should have. Needless to say, manners are alive and well in the South.
Of course, nobody is perfect and there are plenty of jerks out there too (they are called Auburn fans, hahahahahaha) but my experience of being an adopted Southerner who has been welcomed with open arms has reinforced in me a desire to be kind and well-mannered to other people. It doesn’t cost anything to be kind. If I saw a Florida fan on the side of the road with a flat tire, I may even consider calling roadside assistance for them. Maybe.
“Just ‘cause I talk slow don’t mean I’m stupid.” Sweet Home Alabama
If you don't follow Heidi's blog, you should! (She paid me to say that.) She is a thrifter like myself, and I love to see how creative she is on putting outfits together. Thanks, Heidi!
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