Are Southerners REALLY the Nicest People?

I ask you the age old question, Are Southerners Really As Nice As You've Heard They Are?
You have heard this, haven't you? If not, where have you been? Do you live under a rock...
Now see, THAT comment wasn't very nice, but I'm not originally from the South. I'm from Texas, and although Texans are the friendliest people on the planet they're much more mouthy.

Putting all that aside,
I've come to a conclusion. The answer is yes. Southerner's Are  Nice. Beyond Nice, they're super duper fantastically kind, big hearted and sweet.

1.
Take my neighbor, Carl, for example. He's the owner of Franklin, the cat. I think it's crazy nice of him to feed the cat, flea/tick proof the cat, change the cat's litter box, and watch the cat while we're on vacation, because other than those activities,  Franklin lives here with us. Hint: Make the neighbor's animals your very own pets. They do the work, you have the fun. Win/Win seet-chew-ay-shun.

2.
The local waitress. She's offered me her kidney if and when I ever need one. I don't need it yet, but it's nice to know she is THERE if I do. Not really. BUT,she did offer me a big glass of sweet tea and gave it to me for FREE. Now that's just plain nice.

3.
Fairhope Paint and Body. Fixed  the hood on my car, and gave me touch up paint...and didn't charge me a penny to do it. THAT IS SO NICE!

4.
Everybody I've met in this town... and I do mean everybody. Fortunately, I haven't met the 'jerky' couple Emily waited on last night at the Fly Creek cafe. They're probably out-of-towners...or alcoholics. Therefore their jerkiness can't be held against them.

Yes, folks, life is slower, kinder, and sweeter down here in Lower Alabama. And it should be. The air is beyond  hot and humid-if a bunch of cranky, selfish people lived here murder and  mayhem would break loose faster than you can say "outside is ten degrees hotter than hell" or  "Well, don’t you look prettier than a glob of butter melting on a stack of wheat cakes."

 P.S. NIE-US. It's a two syllable word...or three if you say it just right and let it hang for a second more.

I Slapped Him With My Foot

I slapped Mr. Wonderful with my foot last night. It's true. It didn't hurt him a bit and it relieved me of some frustration, so hey, I'm glad I did it.

Ya'll know I've moved to the lovely, flowertopia town of Fairhope, Alabama. And you would think  I would be supremely happy at all times, what with singing to the birds and squirrels and Franklin the cat to keep me company. However, I've actually been in a slight depression of late, and I needed to talk. To my man.

So, he got home from work and his daily exercise regimen (God love him, he's so disciplined!) and I hit him with it. Not my foot just yet, but the news: I Am Down In The Dumps, Please Help.

And guess what he did? He listened. I am so grateful because I know he wanted to hide his face in a pillow and scream and run away, far far away. But he didn't, he just sat there and listened and tried to 'get me'. And he told me some stories that made me laugh which cheered me up. He also did an AVATAR impression, and said 'I see you...' He did it with such expression, you should've seen his face. I'm still laughing.

So, we both had our feet up on the ottoman, and then I slapped his foot  with mine, and asked, 'did that hurt?' and when he said no, I said, 'good' and I did it again.

Starting over is NEVER EASY. Why can't it be easy? Why does it have to be so hard? Because. It just is and does.After we talked and the foot slapping, he said, "I love you."

You're a good man Mr. Wonderful.  I love you too.

He's Not Sick, He's Dead

My Daily Confessional: Pssst. Hey you...

Let me get straight to the point. I. am. a. horrible. nurse.  I would just as soon KILL you than nurse you back to health. Unless you're between the ages of newborn to five years old and have white blonde hair, or dark brown curly hair and big hazel, brown, or blue eyes. Then I don't mind. I will rock you and sing to you and tend to you gently and softly until the morning sun rises over yon hill.

You're how old?  Sorry I've just pulled your life support.

Granny and Grandaddy, I've killed your child. I didn't want to do it, but I couldn't help myself.
*big sigh*  

Here we have the terribly ill man upon his sick bed, yet he somehow maintains the strength to work the remote control.


Poor Mr. Wonderful has been sick for a week. A WEEK. Do you understand what I'm saying? I ask you,  Do you know what men are like when they are sick? (Sorry 'bout wrapping both hands around your throat just then and violently shaking you).   I asked  him nicely on day three to move to a nursing home but he wouldn't do it. By day five, I went to our liquor cabinet for a little relief. After searching frantically through every room in this house I came to the shocking realization THERE IS NO LIQUOR CABINET!

After sipping a bottle of Gatorade mixed with a little 'Old Bay' seasoning, I knew what to do.

Can you say pillow?!  Psycho laughter is now merrily ringing through the halls of justice. What does that even mean? Don't ask me because  I don't know! I 've obviously snapped.

As you can see, he offered the pillow and I took him up on his kind offer. Or maybe he was hiding his unshaven sickly face from being photographed. Whatever. It doesn't really matter anymore.

It's day seven and he's sleeping quietly now, FOREVER. 'Glory glory hallelujah, glory, glory hallelujah...' she sang as she gently rocked back and forth.

 The sound of his hacking cough just pierced my eardrum.

$50 bucks says he won't go to the doctor tomorrow...$500 says if he doesn't, I'm gonna kill him. For real this time.

OOPSIE! I FORGOT...

Oops! Recipe Correction:

For the Outta-This-World Cheese Grit recipe, you need two more ingredients:

Add one cup of milk when you add the eggs; and sprinkle the rest of the cheese on top when you bake.