Things a True Southerner Knows
also, "Bless Your Heart!"

Do you know these things?

The difference between a hissie fit and a conniption fit.

Pretty much how many fish make up a mess.

What general direction cattywumpus is.

That "gimme sugar" don't mean pass the sugar.

When somebody's "fixin" to do something, it won't be long.

The difference between Yankee's and damn Yankee's.

How good a cold grape Nehi and cheese crackers are at a country store.

A good dog is worth its weight in gold.

Real gravy don't come from the store.

When "by and by" is.

How to handle their "pot likker".

The difference between "pert' near" and "a right far piece".

The differences between a redneck, a good ol' boy, and trailer trash.

Never to go snipe hunting twice.

At one point learned what happens when you swallow tobacco juice.

Never to assume that the other car with the flashing turn signal is actually going to make a turn.

You may wear long sleeves, but you should always roll 'em up past the elbows.

You should never loan your tools, pick-up, or gun to nobody.

A belt serves a greater purpose than holding Daddy's pants up.

Rocking chairs and swings are guaranteed stress relievers.

Rocking chairs and swings with an old person in them are history lessons.

GOD BLESS DIXIE !!!!

"Bless Your Heart!"

Someone once noted that a Southerner can get away with the most awful kind of insult just as long as it's prefaced with the words "Bless her heart" or "Bless his heart."

As in, "Bless his heart, if they put his brain on the head of a pin, it'd roll around like a BB on a six-lane highway." Or, "Bless her heart, she's so bucktoothed, she could eat an apple through a picket fence." As long as the heart is sufficiently blessed, the insult can't be all that bad, at least that's what my Great-aunt Tiny (bless her heart, she was anything but) used to say.

I was thinking about this the other day when a friend was telling me about her new Northern friend who was upset because her toddler is just beginning to talk and he has a Southern accent. My friend, who is very kind and, bless her heart, cannot do a thing about those thighs of hers, so don't even start, was justifiably miffed about this. After all, this woman had CHOSEN to move South a couple of years ago. "Can you believe it?" she said to my friend. "A child of mine is going to be taaaallllkkin' a-liiiike thiiiissss." I can think of far worse fates than speaking Southern for this adorable little boy, who, bless his heart, must surely be the East Coast king of mucus. I wish I'd been there. I would have said that she shouldn't fret, because there is nothing so sweet or pleasing on the ear as a soft Southern drawl.

Of course, maybe we shouldn't be surprised at her "carryings on." After all, when you come from a part of the world where "family silver" refers to the large medallion around Uncle Vinnie's neck, you just have to, as Aunt Tiny would say, "consider the source." Now don't get me wrong. Some of my dearest friends are from the North, bless their hearts. I welcome their perspective, their friendships, and their recipes for authentic Northern Italian food. I've even gotten past their endless complaints that you can't find good bread down here. The ones who really gore my ox are the native Southerners who have begun to act almost embarrassed about their speech. It's as if they want to bury it in the "Hee Haw" cornfield.

We've already lost too much. I was raised to swanee, not swear, but you hardly ever hear anyone say that anymore, I swanee you don't. And I've caught myself thinking twice before saying something is "right much," "right close" or "right good" because non-natives think this is right funny indeed. I have a friend from Bawston who thinks it's hilarious when I say I've got to "carry" my daughter to the doctor or "cut off" the light. That's OK. It's when you have to explain things to people who were born here that I get mad as a mule eating bumblebees.

Not long ago, I found myself trying to explain to a native Southerner what I meant by being "in the short rows." I'm used to explaining that expression (it means you've worked a right smart and you're almost done) to newcomers to the land of buttermilk and cold collard sandwiches (better than you think), but to have to explain it to a Southerner was just plain weird.

The most grating example is found in restaurants and stores where nice, Magnolia-mouthed clerks now say "you guys" instead of "y'all," as their mamas raised them up to say. I'd sooner wear white shoes in February, drink unsweetened tea, and eat Miracle Whip instead of Duke's than utter the words, "you guys." Not long ago I went to lunch with four friends and the waiter, a nice Southern boy, you-guys-ed all of us within an inch of our lives. "You guys ready to order? What can I get for you guys? Would you guys like to keep you guys' forks?"

Lord, have mercy. It's a little comforting that, at the very same time some natives are so eager to blend in, they've taken to making microwave grits (an abomination), the rest of the world is catching on that it's cool to be Clampett. How else do you explain NASCAR tracks and Krispy Kreme doughnut franchises springing up like yard onions all over the country? To those of you who're still a little embarrassed by your Southernness, take two tent revivals and a dose of red-eye gravy and call me in the morning. Bless your heart! (My personal favorite was uttered by my aunt who said, "Bless her heart, she can't help being ugly, but she could've stayed home.) --author unknown

There are only two ways of telling the complete truth - anonymously and posthumously.
-- Thomas Sowell

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