It has come to my attention recently, that I am not a part of the White Trash America or the distinguished group of Southern Belles. I seem to fall somewhere in-between. Throughout high school, I had often thought of myself as being the sweet Southern belle-type. Considering my mom’s side of the family, the Watson’s, had been a well-established family in Levy County for generations. This was before cold, hard reality set-in. See, no matter how hard I try, I never can quite meet the mark of the “belle status.” Unfortunately, at a friend’s baby shower, this rang even more true. My mom and I showed up in our denim capris and flip-flops because it was only a “drop-in” and we would only be there for a few minutes. What we walked into was a room of well-dressed, tea-sippin’, lah-di-dah Southern ladies. The hostess was lovely, the shower was wonderful, but I have never felt so out of place in my life. Needless to say, I couldn’t have gotten out of there quick enough.
That being said, I am also not part of the day-after-Thanksgiving, tazered-at-Wal-mart crowd. I also can’t think of three people in my family that are currently on probation which is the ultimate standard. I, myself, have never been arrested, worn leopard spandex, or slept with my neighbor-in-the-trailer-park’s live-in boyfriend. But I’ve come close a time or two. I’ll let you guess which one. All I will say is my fat behind doesn’t need spandex stretched over it, I’m not a fan of STD’s, but my uncle IS the sheriff.
I do have relatives that fit in both categories. Some fit the Southern Belle mold so well that you could imagine them at Tara flirtin’ with Rhett. Yet, some very easily fall into the White Trash America, would fight on the Jerry Springer Show over determining who the baby-daddy be, category. My bunch goes from Ivory complexions to big ugly tattoo’s done with Indian ink. The spectrum is very broad ‘round these parts. Luckily, I fall somewhere in the middle. Maybe, just maybe, that grants me a little normalcy in life.