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.
