If there’s one thing I have learned this week, it’s that people feel all kinds of ways about the South. The South has long been the butt of the rest of America’s jokes, and to be honest, I get it. I mean, we are basically the worst at everything. And it’s so freaking humid here that when you walk outside from May to September, you would swear you are walking around in Satan’s mouth after a night of chugging Fireball and eating Krystals. (Satan is probably Southern). And then there’s been this tiny little issue over that stupid-ass flag that will not die. Except now it’s finally coming down, which has so many folks OUTRAGED because apparently they are all history and political science experts who claim to know that flying the Stars and Bars isn’t RACIST it’s TRADITION or some other shit that I can’t even hear any more.
You guys, living in the South cracks me up. I love the random Southern Fried cast of characters you run into on any given day in the South. Every region has their own flavor, I know, but ours is just SO endearing.
Today, for example, I had an appointment at the dermatologist office. At check-in, I was greeted by THE MOST made-up and bedazzled woman I’ve seen in weeks (I can’t say “I’ll ever see” because fair season is just around the corner). She had on at least 4 shades of eyeshadow, and that doesn’t include her eyebrow shade. Lipstick perfectly filling in the lines carefully drawn around her mouth. The brightest shade of purply-pink blush to go with her stiffly-coiffed and bright orange-with-bleach-blonde-highlighted hair. Her reading glasses were bejeweled expertly to match her tunic, also glitzy. Her acrylic nails were the perfect shade for summer: neon coral and 4 inches long and were a perfect compliment to her massive blue topaz (?) stone on one hand, and blindingly shiny diamonds on the other.
She was perfection.