Wednesday, June 06, 2007

Fried okra and fried logic. It's all good.

Growing up in the great state of racism and tobacco had its advantages. I can’t come up with many right now, but in all fairness, I had no time to prepare for your incessant prying.

There was the food. That was good.

Lots of biscuits and gravy and sweet tea and always some manner of animal insides fried until crispy.

There was the cache of good looking Southern boys who wore Wranglers with the requisite round imprint of a Skoal can on the back pocket and whose pick-up trucks and/or Camaro’s bore the Rebel Flag and at least one loaded shot gun in the back window.

That was scary.

And there was Southern marriage. That was all kinds of good, if good means disturbing and not at all healthy in any way, shape or form.

True story.

When I was in my sophomore year of high school (and openly dating grown men who today would be ambushed by Chris Hansen and his Dateline militia for doing the things we did before 11 PM on a Saturday night), there was a girl in my choir class named Karo who was also dating someone who was plenty old enough to know better.

(Before you go thinking Southern people name their kids after tasty syrup products, Karo is not her real name. It’s just that I learned my lesson after writing of an old boyfriend only later to be told he was on God’s payroll and my description of him was at the top of Google’s search listings for his name. I changed it as I figured church-goers didn’t want to know one of their pulpit guys was at one time a young horn-dog.)

Anyway Karo and her tall, weird looking, twenty-something honey wanted to get married in the worst way. She was fifteen after all and not getting any younger.

Every morning before she went to school and he went to his job, he’d drive to her house and wake up Karo with a kiss and a bowl of her favorite cereal in bed. Fruity Pebbles, no doubt.

Then while she was poofing her hair he’d go out and crank her car for her, always making sure that it was just the right temperature inside and that the perfect song expressing his deep pedophiliac love for her was playing at just the right decibel level.
I’m guessing something by Air Supply.

Their love was the gold standard of creepiness.

One day, Karo came to chorus and told me that Old Balls… I mean, that guy she was dating, had asked her Daddy for her hand and had been turned down cold. Even though in North Carolina it wouldn’t have been uncommon for her to be somebody’s wife before she could legally drive a car, she was an only child and her parents weren’t ready to let her go.

Karo was so distraught, she could barely sing the words, “Shine little glow worm, shimmer,” through her salty tears.

Her anguish had eased markedly however just about three days later when she arrived in class with a big grin and an even bigger diamond on her wife finger.

“We just told him the truth,” she said to me in explanation of Daddy’s change of heart.

For a brief moment I thought she meant the truth about what Old Balls was actually doing when he tucked her in after every date.

“We explained to Daddy & Momma that we were really and truly in love and that we wanted to spend as much time as possible together before the Rapture.”

How’s that now?

Even the good Southern Baptist girl I was recognized the gospel crazy in that logic.

“He told Daddy that he could tell by the signs that Jesus would be coming back in a year or two and he wanted to spend every minute of that time with me because there is no marriage in Heaven and so once we get raptured, we couldn’t be together any more. Daddy said he couldn’t argue with that, so we’re getting married!”

I’ve thought about poor Karo and her lawfully wedded criminal about a million times over the years. I wonder whether he still starts her car in the morning and brings her breakfast in bed.

I also wonder just how pissed off the two of them are that Jesus did not have the decency to come back already so they could finally enjoy the sweet release of what amounts to a Heavenly, completely God-sanctioned divorce.

And if I might be so bold, I wonder exactly how funny Jesus thinks this is. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn He is in fact delaying His big day just to teach the love birds a little lesson in theology. Perhaps something in a “Thou Shalt Not Use My Name in Pursuit of Hillbilly Stupidity” commandment would be in order.

Oh, but who am I to throw redneck stones? I once married a man because he knew all the words to the Old Rugged Cross. Ok that’s not true, but he did have a bigger shotgun than any of the other boys. Nothing says loving like a big gun in your window.
Now I'm all feeling all kinds of 80's. This is the song I want played at my funeral, by the way.

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Jami said...

Honey, I hope you have a little sympathy and just have the undertaker play that song in the chapel for the viewing (dancing WILL be allowed, right?), because it would be downright hell (although funnier'n shit) for the pall bearers to keep time with it while carrying your casket.

Nancy said...

Funny Chit! Obviously I never grew up or lived in the south ... I feel so deprived.

I've never had okra either and unless I go google it now, I have no clue what it is.

kjax said...

Okra is some nasty, nasty stuff, nancy. Just take my word for it. About the only way it is palatable (and it isn't) is rolled in cornmeal and fried. Some people boil it. Frankly, that's just eating boiled snot, right there.
Blech to the whole okra world.

Sher said...

So I can put you down for singing at my funeral, right? Would Spirit in the Sky be a little better?

Poor, poor Nancy. Fried okra is straight from God. Perfection is what it is.

Are you insane??? (and I mean that in the nicest way). As I said, it's PERFECTION. Although when I was young I went to cook supper and rather than washing and THEN cutting it, I cut it and THEN washed it. If you have ever tried to wash snot, you know what I was dealing with.

Have you ever tried to wash snot? Now I'm sick. Thanks for that.

BTW...aren't you that planet Kevin Spacey came from?

Nancy said...

S'not funny, making fun of poor ole okra ... maybe I will pass on trying it.

Then again, I do like escargot ... which is basically snot in a shell!

Secret Rapture said...

My inaugural address at the Great White Throne Judgment of the Dead, after I have raptured out billions! The Secret Rapture soon, by my hand!
Read My Inaugural Address
My Site=

kjax said...

Well, now I have been called, ahem...fluffy...before, but I do believe that's the first time I've been likened to a planet!

But on the off chance I am the planet from whence Kevin Spacey sprung, it's time he came home. I've been having impure thoughts about him. Time to put some of them into practice.

Catwoman said...

Hysterical! Have you tried googling them? I'm obsessive compulsive about googling ex-boyfriends and anyone else I can remember from my past.

Which isn't too many people. Because I did like to drink back then and was quite the light weight.

Well, that's still true today, you know what I mean.

Alpha Dude 1.5 said...

Gee, I wonder how ol' daddy feels about things now?

Sher said...

Don't you even think of passing on okra. It will change your life, you snail eater.

Yeah. Ok.

Crapola. I guess I was thinking of kpax.

Well of course I have, don't be silly. Nuttin. She is probably in prison for killing him.

I'm saying!

Jami said...

First, okra IS the queen of vegetables. I love fried okra, pickled okra and okra & tomatoes.

Second, I'll be happy to sing Spirit in the Sky at your funeral but doing so might cause you to get out of the casket to slap me and tell me "Shut the Hell up!" I still want to see the boppin' pall bearers, though.

Pamela Kay Morgan said...

Hey, I'm having fried okra for dinner. Major yum.

I didn't realize you knew my cousin. That could be a story about my family. :o)

I don't think the preacher will let them play that at your funeral. Just guessing.

As always a well written blog.

Pam :o)

Sher said...

I've had a rough day today and you have no idea what I would give for fried okra...or as we say back home "okrey".

Thanks for stopping by and when you're enjoying your supper, don't be surprised when you drop a bite. That one's mine.

TSG said...

Please consider yourself stalked for the week. I am running way behind.
I wouldn't want to attempt to "one -up you" regarding who may have had a rougher day so......... Just let me say two of my sisters talked me into helping cook at a church camp for 9-10 year olds. (70 of the little recalcitrant's). This is where I've been from 6 :00 Am until 7:00 PM everyday this week. I'm not lying, it's true! It has been an education for everyone!

The Drive-by Blogger said...

"And there was Southern marriage. That was all kinds of good, if good means disturbing and not at all healthy in any way, shape or form."

I can't help but think that somewhere in the great beyond, Tennessee Williams is loving this post.

Sher said...

Thanks for the stalking. Always appreciated.

That is the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time. :-)

LarryLilly said...

This will probably get me banned, or just damed for this life and any other that some believe. LOL

I have tried to get Hells Bells by AC/DC as my ring tone. IF I had a funeral, i would want that as the introduction music.

I dont believe in the afterlife, chit, this one is so much fun, why think of another one. I mean, I enjoy my life here, I dont need a second one.

So when i head out of here, sliding safely under the giant spirits in the sky wide open arms hearing "Safe" , I will have had a great ride.

Okra, this Yankee boy thought okra was ...well...snot. But then i had fried okra, and figured if you have to add a pound-o-lard to make it taste good, it must be bad, since you can do the same thing with crisco and Spam.

Poor girl, what delusions people have about the end times. Old Pat Robertson made a ton of money off the blue haired crowd with that pap.

As always, I liked the story, and yeah, alternate names are best when they are either still alive, or the jury hasn't found them guilty yet LOL

Have a great weekend.

TSG said...

Wanna swap stories about weird behavior among young southern rednecks sometime?
You know I have four sisters, and I WILL use names.

Sher said...

Gotta love ACDC. However I think if my parents had loved 'em, I wouldn't have been so obsessed. The fact that Daddy said I couldn't listen to 'em really hiked their appeal. Guess it stuck 'cause I still love 'em.

I have three sisters and I too will use names. BTW, my redneck stories can top any you got.

EE said...

You crack me up! Funniest thing I've read all night!!!!

Sher said...

And we have a winner! ee is now my new favorite reader.

Let that be a lesson to the rest of you.