On Being Southern

As I've stated many times before, I like to think of myself as a good Southerner. Living up to the standards and ideals taught to me by my mom, my dad, my grandmother, and all my kinfolk. To be courteous and genteel when dealing wih others. Even those that are not deserving of such consideration. 

But there are times I curse my Southern upbringing for just that etiquette that I've held so dear to my heart and has been the basis of my actions for so many years.

On two separate occasions within the past two weeks I have had the almost uncontrollable urge to throw my drink in someone's face when I've seen them out and just prancing about. To splash it all up in their business and go on a verbal tirade about their lacking of moral character and their opportunism without thoughts about the consequences of their actions. How their actions have deep, reverberating effects on people's lives. Last night was one of those nights. And were it not for the words of a dear and close friend, I probably would have done it. Right there in the midst of all this person's friends. I can almost taste the delight I woulda felt had I actually done it. But... That is not the Southern way. Vengeance, Southern style, is more subtle. Is more discreet.

But damn that would've felt good.