I am southern.
I was born in North Carolina, as was my entire family. Therefore, I have the freedom to make fun of my southern heritage (don’t get me wrong – I completely love my southern roots, family and friends. Nobody else can make fun of us, but because I am one, I can.)
The other night my mom told my kids a story in her southern mountain twang. Here’s a hint: if you can’t figure out what it says, just read it out loud.
Okay, here it goes:
This here is the story of Southern Goldilocks.
Now, Southern Goldilocks had real purdy golden hair, but down in the south, curly hair don’t do too good. Nope, all that dern humidity’ll gitcha ever time. So Southern Goldilock’s mama, she didn’t call her Goldilocks. Naw, she started callin her “Frizzhead.” You know, cause of all the humidity.
So one day, she said, “Hey Frizzhead, come on in here and git this basket’a biscuits and this here thermos’a gravy and take it on down yonder to your granny’s house. And don’t go poking your nose where it don’t belong and peeking around in other people’s windows again this time. Got it?”
So Goldy Frizzhead took the basket and the thermos and she headed out down the dirt road that cut across the woods.
And lo and behold, she saw a little ole cabin out-tere that she’d never laid eyes on before. And of course, she plumb forgot all about what her mama'd told her and she went right up to that cabin door and peeked right in. Didn’t look like nobody was home so she set her stuff down on the porch. Then she wiped the red dirt off her feet (she did have some manners after all, thank you very much) and proceeded to open up the squeaky screen door. Then she went right on in.
Well, right there in front-a her on the kitchen table were three big bowls-a grits. Well, anyone who’s anyone knows that you don’t just go traipsing off and leavin your perfectly good grits to go to waste. So Goldy Frizzhead did them folks a favor and she set down and gobbled all them grits right up.
Then, she headed into the living room but it didn’t look too interesting to her – there weren’t nothing there but some deer heads and a gun cabinet and a few empty Orange Crush bottles on a TV tray.
So she went over to the stairs and started climbin. And wouldn’t you know it? At the top of the stairs, she found a bedroom where the A/C was turned on full blast and there was a great big ole waterbed just awaitin for her to lay down for her morning nap (all them grits was setting mighty heavy in little ole Frizzhead’s belly at this point.)
So she laid down and she covered up with a Braves blanket she found at the foot of the bed, and before you knew it, she was out. Frizzhead was just-a sawing logs, let me tell ya. And then, I guess you probly can figure out what happened next.
The three bears – a great big Daddy Bear, a regular-sized Mama Bear and a tee-niny little Baby Bear came up out of the woods and they was hungry. Naw, they was HONGRY. Hongry for their grits.
Well, when they got up on the porch, they saw the biscuits and gravy settin' there and they thought somebody had done gone and brought em some breakfast. So they headed into the kitchen, ready to fill up on grits and biscuits and gravy, and then they saw that their grits was gone.
Well, Daddy Bear went all to pieces and headed over to the gun cabinet just in case the Grit Thief was still in the vicinity. Then they all went up the stairs and Baby Bear peeked in and saw Goldy Frizzhead laying there on the waterbed. Well, of course Daddy Bear wadn’t gonna hurt a little ole’ girl, no matter if she DID look like a frizzy-headed coconut and was a grit thief, bless her heart.
So they let her git her nap out, and then they invited her down to eat lunch with em, since Mama Bear had done put a ham in the oven and the beans was ready.
The end.
--from my 9/23/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com
