One of my best gal pals recently laughed at something I said. While I do, of course, consider myself to be a witty girl, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what was funny this time.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked, which only made her laugh harder as she mumbled something about adding it to her list.
“List?” I questioned.
“Yes,” she chuckled. “I’ve started writing down some of the local expressions I’ve heard since I’ve moved to Arkansas.”
Ah yes, she isn’t from around here. She hails from, ehem, California. (Yes, I know, but she does have redeeming qualities in spite of being previously geographically challenged.)
I suppose it is true Southerners do have a certain colorful way of expressing themselves. Many regions of the country, or world for that matter, have a particular dialect that is readily identifiable, especially to those who don’t hail from that region. Those from the Bronx might detect the differences in speech of that of a Valley Girl or Minnesotan. But the South … the South is different. Southern vernacular seems to evoke a full-bodied flavor all its own with an appeal that can be either intoxicating (if done right) or nauseating (if faked). And it isn’t just the accent.
First of all, let the record reflect that I don’t have an accent. My friend does. That’s just a given.
And second, even if there is an accent, that’s not the whole story. Truly beautiful “Southern” is an entire package, a delicate blend of cadence, drawl, facial expression, body language, choice of words and, most importantly, words left unspoken.
Often times, we Southerners express ourselves in ways that provide clear, unmistakable images of our thoughts. Sure, we could say we remember when Johnny was young, but saying we remember him when he was just knee-high to a grasshopper paints a picture beyond our mere words.
Other times, our expressions are a charming secret language intended to be decoded only by other Southerners. These phrases are said sincerely with a lilt of the voice, lifted at the beginning and trailing toward the end, and always — always — with a slight smile. The obvious example is “bless your heart.”
“Bless your heart” is a colloquialism that can take on several different meanings. When one doesn’t know what to say or hasn’t been listening to what was just said, a smile and a “Bless your heart” will almost always suffice. But this usage is rare. Most often, it is used when a Southern lady cannot find one good thing to say about a situation or wishes to convey an insult without sounding rude. It is commonly spoken after an observation (“You’d think that parent would correct that child after 20 minutes of screaming here in Walmart, bless her heart.”) but, if the situation is particularly egregious, it can be used on its own.
So, being the good friend I am, I thought I would help my dear Californian with her list. Here are just a few:
• He’s too big for his britches. (He thinks too highly of himself.)
• She put the big pot in the little one. (She went to a lot of trouble, especially over a meal.)
• Quicker than green grass through a goose. (That’s fast, darlin’.)
• It’s comin’ a toad strangler. (It’s raining heavily.)
• She couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. (She can’t sing…but a true Southern lady would likely say “Bless her heart” instead. No need to ridicule the poor girl.)
• She looks like she fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. (Sometimes, even a Southern lady can’t resist surpassing “Bless her heart” with a more cutting remark, especially in describing an unattractive fashion choice made by another Southern woman.)
• He doesn’t know whether to scratch his watch or wind his butt. (He’s very busy. Youngsters don’t seem to understand this phrase because they don’t wear watches or wind their iPods.)
• We’re in high cotton. (Times are good and successful. However, if said about others, especially when asked as a question with a roll of the eyes, as in “Well, aren’t theeeey in high cotton?” then “they” are thought to be snobby.)
There are also expressions even Southerners aren’t exactly clear on the meaning, such as “a ways.” In West Fork, I was recently told a restaurant was just “a ways” down the road. I took that to mean a mile or two. It was 13.4 miles, to be exact.
Now, if that didn’t dill my pickle.
LISA KELLEY IS A WRITER, MASTER GARDENER, ANIMAL LOVER AND ALL-AROUND GOOD OL’ SOUTHERN GAL WHO ALSO HAPPENS TO PRACTICE LAW AND MEDIATE CASES IN DOWNTOWN BENTONVILLE. HER COLUMNS NORMALLY APPEAR ON THURSDAYS.