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Adams: Don’t mess with me or my SEC

Posted: November 22, 2017 - 1:42am

Some people don't mind showing their donkey parts in public, mostly because they think they're right and the majority is wrong and they're just the one to set us all straight. Most of these folks, naturally, are not from around here.

Last week, such a person sat down near me, while I minded my own business eating my lunch. After scrutinizing my fare, she asked what I had on my plate. Then, after I told her what she could clearly see, she said, condescendingly, "I will never understand putting gravy on rice. Do you know the rest of the country doesn't do that? This is the only region where people put gravy on rice. Where I'm from, the only time we eat rice is if we're serving Asian food."

What I and the other cradle Southerners in the room heard was, "You people in the South are so ignorant that when you're not marrying your cousins you're serving rice as a side dish and smothering it with gravy. I am smarter than you, but I have no home training. Therefore, I have no idea that it's incredibly rude to critique another person's meal while the person is partaking of it."

Now keep in mind, as I did, this same Sage, self-appointed to save the South from drowning in gravy and its own stupidity, also quite vocally questioned the wisdom of using a starter pistol at track meets, because the blast is too loud and scary. She actually said, "Why can't they just say, ‘Go?'" (What a grand idea to whisper, "Go," so as not to startle any of the runners. And, just to make sure the entire experience of competition is fair, and just, and pleasant, let's tell every runner as he crosses the finish line that he came in first.)

I took her obvious ignorance into consideration when I formulated my reply, which I delivered slowly, so she could maybe, at long last, understand. "You do know, before we grew cotton here in Georgia, we grew rice. We've had at least a couple hundred years to perfect the preparation and consumption of it."

For the sake of peace and harmony, and because I'm a lady and I try to accept and tolerate the shortcomings of others as the Bible teaches, I didn't add, "If that place you're from is so great, why are you here and not there?"

Still, although I do mind my manners most of the time, like my mama taught me, I am human. Some transgressions leave no room for forgiveness. Just as soon as pacifists like this start jabbing at my Dawgs and the SEC, I start blessing their hearts.

Bless that woman's heart, she thinks football is violent, like a starter pistol. Bless her heart, she thinks we're negatively affecting our children's psyches when we dress them head to toe in SEC college colors, like walking billboards for party schools and smash-mouth football.

Bless her heart, she thinks she's the first person, ever, to observe that half the people who wear Georgia gear and put those "G" stickers on their cars and buy season tickets to games didn't even go to school there. I know we've got some problems here in Dixie, folks, but rice, gravy, starter pistols, and football ain't them.

And that's why we've got an exit plan for interlopers: that fine Atlanta complex known as Hartsfield International Airport with one-way flights leaving daily for every plain-rice-eating region of the country. And I'll even come wave a white hanky and give them a friendly send-off, saying, "Don't let the screen door hit you in your donkey parts on the way out."

 

Lucy Adams is the author of If Mama Don't Laugh, It Ain't Funny and other books. She lives in Thomson, Ga. Email Lucy at lucyadams.writer@gmail.com.

 

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