This blog is going to become my rift and rave spot. The blog is named Secrets and Vices, afterall. What's posted here has virtually nothing to do with any of my books. It's just a place to post observations and opinions and see what y'all think, hopefully get some feedback.
One of the differences between Southern woman and the rest of us heathens is that Southern women, as a rule, do not cuss and swear. I mean, unless they’re fighting with a computer. Or quilting. During those two activities, all bets are off, but otherwise, nary a crude utterance will pass their lips. Yes, there are exceptions. A dear southern friend and I once had to pinkie swear not to say the ‘f’ word in front of another friend’s eighty-year-old mother. But, by and large, woman from below the Mason/Dixon do not use profanity. They especially do not take the Lord’s name in vain.
This is a challenge for me, a Pacific Northwest Redneck transplanted to Northwest Arkansas. I’m telling you, it’s a hard and trying cultural adjustment.
The worst thing I ever heard my dad say about a woman was, “She wouldn’t say shit if she had a mouthful.” Now, I ask you, is that not a clear demand for a girl to call it like she sees it?
I phoned my sister the other day and asked her what she was doing. “I’m standin’ in my Goddamn garden,” she said sweetly, “looking at my first water-fuckin’-mellon.”
I don’t know what to tell you. It’s how we talk if left to our crude Yankee tendencies.
The other difference between a southern woman and an old Humboldt Honey like myself is that a southern woman will hang herself before leaving the house without a bra. Hell, most of em couldn’t be paid to walk out the front door without foundation makeup, eyeliner, mascara and painted nails. Me? I do shave my legs, though since menopause it’s more habit than anything else and I do wear a bra. Though that last deal is more about the vanities of old age than a defense against a lynching.
All that said, my best friends in the world are from the south. Nobody is better at wearing a soul to submission with pure-dee graciousness or knocking the argument plum out of a body with words sweeter’n tea. I may not be from around here, but I am de-damn-lighted to buckle up that bra and censor my words a tad. It’s a small price to pay to live peaceably in this neck of the woods.