Country girl

Ahhh. Nothing like clean, fresh, country air.

And I didn't even turn it that blue this weekend. Even with an evening at Wurstfest and the accompanying libations, I managed to constrain my profanity.

Somewhat.

So there's hope for me possibly becoming the gracious Southern belle my mother has always hoped for. Of course, the very thought reminds me of a joke.



Two Southern belles were sitting on a porch swing, discussing their husbands and drinking iced tea.

"My husband gave me that big ol' Cadillac out there for my birthday," says the first.

"Well, isn't that nice," says the second.

"And he gave me this huge diamond ring for our anniversary," continues the first Southern belle.

"Well, isn't that nice," repeats the second Southern belle.

"And he brought me flowers last night for no reason at all," the first belle says.

"Well, isn't that nice," says the second belle, rocking.

"I'm curious, sugar," says the first Southern belle. "What kinds of things does your husband give you?"

"Why, he sent me to charm school," replied the second belle.

"Charm school! Well, why would he give you something like that?" quizzed the first Southern belle, astounded.

"So that I could learn to say, 'well, isn't that nice,' instead of 'WHO GIVES A SHIT!'"



Not exactly what my mom has in mind, but definitely within my scope. . . .