“Castaway in Need of Chipotle”, or Things that the South Lacks

18 Dec

The South is a strangely magical but still-place which has shaped me, by and large, into the person that I am today. Now that I live away from the South, I’ve found that the best way to look at my birthplace is as if I were considering the pros and cons of a new boyfriend, or, more realistically, a pair of shoes. Though I had the old pair of shoes for quite some time, and they were reasonably comfortable, I knew it was time to get a new pair. Now that I’m in the market for yet another pair of shoes (i.e., where I’ll be living when Georgetown decides in May that it wants to eventually suck money from me, and not my parents), it’s become a game of “dos and don’ts” of where I’d most like to end up.

Each time I come home from DC, the realization that there are so many unnecessary-but-now-crucial luxuries  that the South doesn’t have both a) makes me slightly annoyed and b) gets those scheming wheels in my head a-turning. Every other day here, I propose to my dad ways he can revolutionize the town and make a goldmine. He, in response, says that he’d rather buy more cows instead. My “girl problems” upon touchdown in the state go from “unusually white” to “THE whitest”, and sometimes even I don’t believe the things that come out of my mouth (not unusual, though, in any area of the country).

There are many things that the South and the Southerners have. These are not any of them.

 1. A SENSE OF IRONY. In 5 days, I have seen enough eye-searing Christmas sweaters to outfit even the choosiest of bros. They are worn in total seriousness, paired appropriately (?) with an Auburn/Alabama baseball cap for casual day-wear and a teased-out bouffant for nighttime (because everyone knows that “the higher the hair, the closer to God” This is ESPECIALLY important at Christmastime).

PROS: No hipsters. ‘Nough said.

CONS: The concept of a “tacky” Christmas sweater party is met with blank stares. AVOID PROPOSING THIS AT ALL COSTS.

 2. CHIPOTLE. The closest one is over 2 hours away. I can feel my taco-fueled soul atrophying by the minute.

3. HOT YOGA. There’s rumored to be a class somewhere in town, but no one seems to know where it is, or what the point of it is, or “why on Earth that Smith girl runs around in exercise clothes all day”.

 4. A GRASP OF THE CONCEPT OF A “HEALTHY” SALAD. Progressing along the “salad bar” at the country club on Sunday was comparable to what I imagine observing the Spanish Inquisition was, except with dubiously-termed “lettuce”. I’ve practically been having nightmares about going to SweetGreen or Chop’t and then having it vanish before I can order something made entirely of baby spinach. ATTENTION: SOMEONE IN THIS TOWN, PLEASE LOOK INTO ESTABLISHING A SALAD FRANCHISE. It would be, like, every private-school mother’s dream come true, and by “middle-aged female”, I clearly mean “me”.

 5. A FILTER: While the loudness and quality of enunciation is really great for Christmas caroling, it is also useful for shouting across a crowded expanse something to the effects of, “OH MY GAWD, YOU’RE SO GROWN! I REMEMBER WHEN YOU USED TO RUN AROUND NEKKID AS A BLUE JAY IN THE FRONT YARD ON WILDWOOD WEARING NOTHING BUT A BIG PINK HAIR BOW”.**

**It happened. Both the yelling and the “nekkid”-ness. I could work the hairbow.

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