Hey, y’all!
As you may know, Jane, the main character in Never Sit Down in a Hoopskirt and Other Things I Learned in Southern Belle Hell, finds herself stuck in Southern Belle Hell when she accidentally lands herself a spot on Bienville, Alabama’s very traditional Magnolia Court.
What’s that you say? That Jane’s a sassy, outspoken gal, and this is the twenty-first century, so why doesn’t she just quit? Oh, no, no, no, she can’t do that! Jane’s carrying a mountain of mama legacy on her shoulders, and she’s got a gorilla of grandmother guilt on her back, so she can’t opt out! It just wouldn’t be right!
And therein lies the definition of Southern Belle Hell.
See, we may all live in an iPhone/e-book world, but down South, folks will always value tradition and history, etiquette and manners. It’s part of what makes us Southern. We truly believe there are certain ways to do things, and it’s not just what would Jesus do. It’s what would your youth group leader, the cotillion director, the Historical Society, the Book Club, the president of the sorority, the head of the Junior League, Miss Manners, your mother, your grandmother, your dead great-grandmother do?
That sure is a lot of people’s opinions to be fretting about.
The gates of Southern Belle Hell yawn open whenever a gal is caught between the delicate manners of the Old South and…the trends that come with progress and the march of time. Or her own regrettable oversight. Or somebody else’s inappropriateness. A rude comment. A misunderstanding. An impossibly awkward situation. A sudden bizarre turn of events that defies the rules of polite society.
For example, have you ever…
- Served black-eyed peas for good luck on New Year’s Day using your grandmother’s china, but only had plastic spoons to eat ‘em with?
- Found out on Thursday that the event you’re attending on Saturday is semi-formal…and you don’t have a thing to wear in your closet?
- Just KNOWN you’re related to that person across the room who you haven’t seen in a month o’ Sundays, but you just CANNOT remember how, and oh no, now they’re headed this way?
- Just known you’re related to that person who just friended you on Facebook, but you CANNOT remember how, and oh no, they’re getting awfully chatty…?
- Drafted and redrafted the perfect thank-you note, then not been able to remember if you actually wrote it on the card and sent it?
- Watched your mother repeatedly offer a ham sandwich to your brother’s friend, a sweet high school student you’ve just realized is Jewish and practices kosher eating habits, which most definitely rule out ham and just about everything else in your refrigerator full of pork products?
Then you’ve been to Southern Belle Hell! And in each case, the big question is, how’s a girl to extricate herself from said hellish situation politely? And preserve her dignity? And by stepping on as few toes as possible? Good luck with that!
I suspect that we all have a Southern Belle Hell story in us. And by the way, you don’t have to be from the South, or even a Belle, to have a Southern Belle Hell story. So if you’ve got one, I’d love to hear it! Drop me a line below and let’s get talking!
Loved the book! Y’all must read it!!
Sounds Asian – these kind of manners are common courtesy in much of East and South Asia, especially about how to deal with dinner guests inviting their entire tribe and family and respecting elders.
Crickett – one thing I never asked you . . . . . did you ever try to sit down in a hoopskirt? My very first formal (far too young to be doing such too!) I was all dressed up, hoop and all, with escort waiting. My two little sisters had been upstairs waiting for me to get dressed – they were so excited! As I, with my hooped dress got about halfway down the stairs, with them in front of me, they burst out singing “Here comes the bride” at the top of their lungs! For me, that was SBH far too early in my life!
When I was a young bride-to-be, my future mother-in-law’s dear friend gave me a shower. My mother and my future mother-in-law were the ONLY people there I knew, and I was the center of attention (a position that makes me quite uncomfortable). The saving grace was that we were to have chicken salad, this picky eater’s personal favorite, because the hostess had tried hard to choose a menu I would enjoy. As I took a bite, however, I realized that the salad was filled with grapes and nuts, and was, of course, nothing like my grandmother’s classic chicken, egg, celery recipe.
(Did I mention I can’t stand grapes?) As the guest of honor, I was stuck at the head of the table, trying not to grimace as I choked down everything on my plate, all the while being stared at and fawned over by a crowd of well-meaning strangers.
I’ll tell you about Southern Belle Hell. Southern Belle Hell is when you plan a nice dinner out with two other couples at a LOVELY restaurant only to find out last minute that one of those couples has invited their two children, their two mothers, and a next door neighbor. The reservation for six is now a reservation for eleven that the LOVELY restaurant cannot accommodate. The other couple cancels, I wind up at a burger joint in pearls and silk, sitting next to one of the mothers. It was only the fact “respect your elders” was hammered into my brain since birth that I was able to prevent myself from turning to the sourpuss old lady and saying “if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all”–another rule enforced since birth. Instead, I said nothing at all, ate my burger and smiled politely until my cheeks hurt. Now THAT is Southern Belle Hell!
Priceless;)