Where have all the ladies gone?

Last Saturday night I went to the birthday party of a good friend. She turned 29, and we all had a blast. Our husbands and/or significant others were all there, and it was just fabulous. We had dinner at the country club then went over to a single guy friend's house for drinks. This single guy friend is a little younger than the rest of us, but his house is not inhabited by children. It's a great place for my husband and others to break out the guitars and pick and grin.

We were having a grand time. We laughed, the men acted like men, and the girls acted like ladies. A few off-color jokes, but nothing too obscene. It was the most fun I've had in years. We sang all the great songs we grew up listening to, and a few oldies our parents made sure we learned.

Around 10:00 pm, however, a young posse of pre-schoolers waltzed in brandishing their cleavage and fishnets like super models on speed. I was taken aback to say the least. I have never heard such vulgar language spew from a the mouths of babes. And, when I say "babes" I mean youngsters, not hotties. These girls used words only sailors should utter in whispered tones. They spoke of the "old chick" at the bar they competed with for a bar stool. I wondered aloud to my mature friends, "I wonder hold old the 'old chicks' were. Perhaps 35?" I soon left feeling violated and deprived of a good, clean time.

I am writing this blog wondering, "Where have all the ladies gone?" I learned at an early age that a lady never uses foul language, and never picks a fight. I taught high school for one year, and I was astonished at how crass girls are becoming. There is no civility. Young girls lack the "mysterious ways" I was taught as an adolescent. Mama always said to leave the guy wanting just a little more. It was painfully clear what these girls wanted, and I wasn't about to set around and watch them try to lure the first available guy into something unspeakable. I'm fortunate that my husband can see this behavior for what it is -- girls with no self-respect demanding respect they don't deserve.

Southern Gent and Belle in training

As a Southern Belle, I was taught growing up in Northeast Mississippi that there are certain unspoken rules to live by. I try diligently to train my own children in these rules. My son is 6-years old and very literal in his translation. My daughter is 18-months and has only just begun learning the fine art of being a belle.

Brooks, my son, recently asked me how old I was. Being his mother, I was not offended. Actually, I am proud of my 34 years and don't mind sharing my age. However, I understand some women past a certain age do not wish for their age to be public knowledge. So, I instructed my son that it is very poor manners to ask a lady her age. One should NEVER ask a lady her age, unless one is her physician or pastor. My son takes what I say very seriously.

A few weeks later we were home in Mississippi visiting for Thanksgiving. He was tossing a small ball with my husband's aunt (yes, she is Brooks' great aunt, but she doesn't at all look like a great aunt). He said, "You're not as good at throwing as I am because you're so old. How old are you? WAIT! I'm not supposed to as an old lady how old she is! Sorry." Clearly, I still have a little work to do.

I'm hoping to have better luck with my daughter when I teach her the finer points of being a Southern Belle. She loves all things "pitty" -- her word for pretty. She loves to carry her purse in the crook of her arm while prissing around in my heels. If you ask her to show you how pretty she is, she tilts her head to one side and grins. She also likes to show off her beautiful blue eyes. I'm currently teaching her how to bat her eyelashes. ALL Southern Belles should practice this flirtatious gesture. It really will get you anything you want. Case in point, all Gwen (my daughter) as to do is bat her lashes at her daddy, and he melts. However, the time will come soon when Gwen will have to be taught humility. She is a precious little girl, but if I continue down this path she will cease to be a Southern Belle. Instead, she will become a conceited Shallow Belle.

You see, a true Southern Belle is never boastful in her beauty. She says "Thank you" to a compliment coming from a man, but always makes an excuse when the same compliment comes from a fellow belle. A Southern Belle has charm that seems effortless -- only a well-placed eyelash batting will work. Anything too forced, and the man will run. A Southern Belle is always eager to help others, even if it means getting her hands a little dirty. A Southern Belle never offers the traditional, "If you need anything, just let me know," without really meaning it. A Southern Belle is always friendly and gracious to those working in service positions (i.e. wait staff, cashiers, etc.) because a friendly face is always more pleasant to serve. And finally, a Southern Belle or Southern Gent is never suspicious of strangers. You never know if that stranger just needs a little kindness. As Scarlet says, "I've always relied on the kindness of strangers."

My Accent Came Rolling Back

Last Wednesday morning my husband's aunt called to say his grandfather, 94, died after suffering from Alzheimer's for about 9 years. Wisely, I bit my tongue as my husband quietly cried. I wanted to tell him that he shouldn't be sad. His grandfather was so ill, and he really lost him a long time ago. But, after 10 years of marriage and 34 years of living I realized that sometimes people, like our husbands, just need to cry without the boundaries we as wives can sometimes place on them.

So, we (when I say we, I mean I) washed laundry all day, packed bags, loaded the van, strapped in the kids and headed to Mississippi from Kentucky. We go back several times a year, but I'm always amazed how differently I feel when in my home state. I feel wiser somehow. I'm not sure what it is, but I think it has something to do with being familiar with the way people are expected to interact.

For instance, when shopping in Kentucky, people generally smile and say "excuse me," but no real conservations ever really take place in the department stores on in the check-out line -- especially if you have a toddler in the buggy (that's a shopping cart for all you Yankees). Well, I went shopping with Mama (one of the things I miss the most about living closer to family) and low and behold what would have taken 30 minutes in Kentucky took about 2 hours in Mississippi. Everybody stopped to make a fuss over my daughter (18 months) and how precious she was. She caught on, too. She would look at people as they walked by and say, "Hey!" with a grin 3 feet wide. She even said, "Hey, y'all!" a few times (at my coaxing, of course). I even found myself striking up conservations with complete strangers and feeling completely comfortable. I felt like Scarlett, "I've always taken comfort in the kindness of strangers."

However, the most unbelievable thing that happened was that my accent came rolling back. My "i's" sounded like "a's" and my sentences became so much more colorful. It felt like ice tea on a hot summer's day -- so refreshing to let go of the diction I've allowed to strip my language of color and sass.

I have a good friend that says I have an "inner Julia Sugarbaker" lurking somewhere deep inside. I believe I do. I just watched several episodes of "Designing Women" on TV Land, and Julia was a hell of a woman. Excuse my language, a Southern Belle shouldn't use such vulgarity. Anyway, after visiting Mississippi for the weekend, I feel I can come back to Kentucky and add a little color to my world here. Now, if I could just find someone to practice my "inner Julia" on...