Heading South

A part of my raising took place in rural Arkansas. Some of my people still live there, including my Granny, so I still consider it 'down home'. One habit I picked up there is, no matter if I've known you for a second or for years, I'm going to call you 'Babe', 'Sweetheart', 'Honey', or 'Darlin''.

"Would you like me to push the cart to your car for you, Ma'm?"
"No thanks, Babe. I've got it."

"How are you, Sugarbritches?"
"Fat and Sassy, Darlin', what's up with you?"

"Mrs. Britches, would you tell Big that Bill called?"
"You bet, Sweetheart."

This works out great especially when I can't recall your name from Adam. It sets up an air of familiarity. It's a problem because I've realized that some people hate it. It's too much familiarity.

I always liked it. I guess that's why I picked it up. It never felt offensive or patronizing-just kind of warm and friendly.

I'm bringing it up because I have to travel to Prattville, Alabama next week for work. I'm going to get 'Ma'med' and 'honeyed' into a frenzy.

Somehow, those words coming form the lips of a southern man makes me glad to be a woman.

Not very feminist is it.