Southern Lady Code: a technique by which, if you don’t have something nice to say, you say something not so nice in a nice way

In truth, I’m not sure why I expected to be met with anything different. I agreed to go to the party at the behest of my mother, who had so kindly tolerated the scorpions that my grandmother called her friends the month before. She said that everyone we cared about would be there, even the Gentrys, an older couple who ran the local Cotillion chapter that I had taught during high school. That should have been the first clue that something unpleasant would go down. Mrs. Gentry had always been a bit of a tool, ranging somewhere on the mean girl scale between Regina George and fucking Paris Hilton if the two were old, sour Southern women. I tolerated her for all those years because I was obligated. Now, that obligation was over. I was, however, still tied to my grandmother through blood and jewelry, so I donned my red pantsuit (“very holiday appropriate,” she said) and pearls, girded my loins, and walked into that hotel under the influence of far too much shiraz.

It was the final comment of the evening that got me. I dodged comments about my weight (“your face looks so much slimmer, sweetheart!”), major (“hope you have a good backup plan”), and love life (“I don’t see a ring on your finger yet, darling.”) for a whole hour and a half until my grandma pulled me over to see Mrs. Gentry, who’d been nonchalantly chatting with the new Chamber of Commerce President for much of the evening. After shooting the breeze for a moment or two, she’d asked my grandmother something (I can’t remember what) and, as usual, my grandmother responded. Now, apparently, I’m the “creative type,” whatever the hell that means. Probably a knock at the fact that I refuse to bring home the good ol’ Christian boy of Joyce’s dreams. 

Sometimes I really wish she’d just go out and say what she meant. To hell with all this “Southern Lady Code” bullshit. If she wanted to call me a helplessly ugly lesbian with more mental illnesses than IQ points, she really should have just come out and said it. But no. Of course not. It had to be dainty. Well, “creative” my ass. If that’s what she wants, that’s what she’ll get.

Process Notes:

I acquired the above definition from a book that I came across in the Bookstacks called Southern Lady Code. My original plan was to work out of a copy of Emily Post’s Etiquette, and I may eventually write that story, but the “Southern Lady Code” definition felt very fitting. I wrote this piece from the perspective of a less-than-sober character who resembles myself in many ways. She has an overbearing grandmother and had faked her way into Southern society before leaving for college. When a similar thing happened to me, I didn’t react with the anger of this story’s narrator, but I thought it would be interested to address what would have happened if I did. Originally, I also wrote a dialogue involving this character and another that may very well end up in my final portfolio, but I’m not so sure. Anyway, this piece wasn’t too difficult to write. Honestly, it was kind of fun to isolate one of these moments and blow it up to this proportion. Also, highly recommend the book that inspired this piece! So funny!