This is not secret as I think I have mentioned it before. I live in the South. Specifically, Kentucky. And unfortunately most (though certainly not all) of the things you think about when you think "South" are rooted in the truth.
Yes, we say things like "y'all" and "fixin' to". Yes, we love us some big ol' hair. You know, the higher the hair, the closer to Jesus. (by the way that's Jesus with a Y - 'Jay-sus') And besides, the bigger your hair is the smaller your butt looks. Trust us, we know. We still say things like "yes, ma'am" and "no, sir" and "please" and "thank you" and no one thinks you're being excessively polite - except Yankees. On the other hand Southerners have perfected the art of the fake polite. You see when a Southern woman dislikes you, you may never know it until it's too late. We'll slop sugar all over you and say things like "How's your momma been doin'?" or "those are just the cutest shoes!" These things are code for "I've got my eye on you, so don't be trying anything". But when you get the ol' "Well, bless your heart.", especially if it comes with a head tilt - It's too late. The best thing to do is politely excuse yourself and seek cover. That woman surely hates you.
That's not to say that all southern women are just a big ol' bunch of bitches, but we can certainly hold our own. No, in fact, you will never have a truer friend. When your husband has to work away for a while don't be surprised if your yard just magically gets mowed. When your hound dog gets loose, don't worry. Someone will recognize the mutt and send him home. And if someone that you're even vaguely related to should have the misfortune of dying - expect a casserole promptly at dinner time. Which brings me to my point. Food.
Yes, when you thing Southern you think food. No one ever said, "Ummm, going up North to get me some of that good Northern food." That's ridiculous. The South is famous for it's food the world over and so much of our traditions are steeped in food and/or the preparation of it. You've got tailgating and crawfish boils, church suppers and fried chicken, homemade biscuits and sweet tea, bar-b-que and bourbon,iron skillets and julep cups, cornbread stuffing and Sunday at Mamaws. And Bob knows that there ain't nobody can cook like a Southern Mamaw.
My Mamaw Carolyn could whip up the fluffiest melt-in-your mouth biscuits. Ummmm. Biscuits just ain't been the same since she passed. And you cannot convince a Southern Mamaw that you've had enough to eat.
"No thanks, Mamaw. I believe I'm full."
"La, you didn't hardly eat enough to fill up a bird. Come on now and try some of this. This'll fill you up."
And it's your mamaw and you wouldn't dream of talking back to your mamaw. That's just sass.
So what do you do? How is a person supposed to lose weight when so much of our lives are tied up in food. It's easy for someone to say that you just need to focus on activies where food is not the main attraction. But that's just not the way of life around here. And it's not fair to me, or to my family and friends to exclude myself from situations where I know that I'll be tempted. I just need to have a little stronger will power. Make better choices. Realize that yes, I can have a piece of fried chicken, but only one, and no dessert. Or if I want dessert, then I will have just a bite, and no more. That's really what I'm after anyways. The taste. And wouldn't I rather have a 64 calorie beer when I tailgate than to have no beer at all?
So I guess what I'm saying is that life's all about compromises, y'all. You can have you a biscuit as long as you're fixin' to hit the gym afterwards. And certainly having your hair jacked to Jesus is no harm to nobody. And by all means have you a piece of that peach pie, but now don't you be eyeballin' that pecan pie. BTW a crawfish boil is, funnily enough, one southern tradition NOT steeped in fat and calories. It consists of boiling a big bunch of potatoes and corn and smoked sausage. Then boiling the crawfish (or shrimp if you prefer) in a bunch of spices. Then dump it all out on newspaper and enjoy. As long as you avoid too much of the sausage - Laissez les bons temps rouler!
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